


Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

by Kittypatch



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Explicit Sexual Content, Hook-Up, Humor, Lingerie, M/M, Opposites Attract, Power Bottom Patrick, Power Play, Public Blow Jobs, Sasstrick, Soul Punk Era Patrick Stump, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-11-17 10:54:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 65,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11273988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittypatch/pseuds/Kittypatch
Summary: Hollywood AU. Patrick was the talent agent of an actor's dream, or possibly, their nightmare. Sanctimonious actors that thought they were above all the  work his ass put in for them were the bane of his goddamn existence.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Time for something new. Hope you enjoy this! :)

Patrick started every morning with a strong coffee, dressed in his best suit and flicking through his phone, checking emails. It was always the same stuff, but he flagged what he needed to deal with in the office and ran through his day's itinerary in his head. 

There was a party that night that a studio was throwing. It was work for him, but it meant he wouldn't get home until at least three am and he had a nine-thirty appointment tomorrow morning with Gerard. He'd get Joe to reschedule. 

He spent five minutes standing in his backyard with Penny tinkling in the heavily pruned bushes. It looked too well maintained. Too neat and tidy. Patrick sipped his coffee and felt his phone buzz. He looked at the screen and saw it was his pick-up, saying they were outside.

“C’mon, Penny. We gotta go.”

It took twenty minutes longer than it ought to head into the office after dropping Penny at the dog-sitters, but LA traffic was about as vile as normal. It gave Patrick a chance to sift through his emails some more. He had a script that looked interesting being offered to Gabe, but he'd have to check it himself. If he was skipping past the audition stage, there must be a reason for it. Then there was another remake of _Pride and Prejudice_ that was in desperate need of an actor after a drop-out a month before filming. They came to Patrick before anyone else and he had a few people he could put forward.

Joe was already in the office by the time Patrick made it in. He had two cups of coffee in his hands, a can of peaches wedged between his knees and a phone nudged between his ear and shoulder. He rolled his eyes at Patrick, but held out a coffee. Patrick took it, and the can of peaches, and retreated to his office.

Patrick spent the morning writing emails, and calling back and forth with a studio that was hunting Gabe for a role. They could have him, but Patrick was holding out for a higher wage. Gabe just played _Bond_ , for goodness sake. Patrick would have the deal sealed by the afternoon, and if not, he’d work his magic that evening at the party. Patrick was the fucking bee's knees at his job, thank you very much.

Joe didn't knock as he entered Patrick’s office. He had a wedge of papers in his hand and he dumped them on the desk, giving Patrick an amused look. His shirt was buttoned wrong, and half his hair was falling out of its man-bun, but Patrick said nothing. 

“Dude, someone just left this at reception for you. It’s a script. You’ll like it.”

“What is it?” Patrick scanned the front and saw a name he didn't recognize. “Why do I have it?”

“You know I only give you half of the ones you’re sent. The rest are garbage,” Joe said. “You should read it. It's funny.”

“You think it's good? Why am I being sent scripts that haven't been green-lit? They know I don't make movies, right?”

“You’ll, uh, know when you read it. You should read it on your lunch-break. Or part of it,” Joe shrugged. Patrick eyed him suspiciously.

“Did you write it?” Patrick questioned, narrowing his eyes at his assistant. Maybe Joe had taken up screenwriting in his zero downtime. 

“No, dude. You keep me too busy to do that,” Joe laughed. “I bet it's someone we know though. The detail is killer.”

Patrick gave in. “I’ll read the first page. If I don’t die trying to get Gerard to rearrange the meeting tomorrow.”

“Read it, dude. I swear you will not be disappointed.”

Patrick managed to get Gerard to respond to him via email, but he said he was too busy to come by the office. Patrick flipped the screen off, but sent a pleasant response back. Sanctimonious actors that thought they were above all the fucking work his ass put in for them were the bane of his goddamn existence.

He opened his can of peaches with the opener he kept in his drawer and started to eat them with a disposable fork as he pulled open the script. The moment he read the first page he stopped chewing the peach in his mouth and reread it again.

_LA. Late March. A young man sits behind his desk. He is perfectly dressed, neat suit, bleached hair coiffed up to the side. Every day, for lunch, he peels open a can of fruit. Sometimes peaches, sometimes pineapple. He eats it slowly, but with no enjoyment on his face…_

Patrick slammed his fruit on the desk and stood up. Joe was out running errands, or possibly on his lunch break, but Patrick called him up and immediately launched into a fit.

“Okay, so who wrote it? Who have I pissed off?”

“Dude, it’s funny,” Joe said. “And true.”

“I don’t just eat canned fruit for lunch,” Patrick said instead. Sometimes he had meetings over lunch, in the fancy deli across the office. “Do you think it was Gerard? I just sent him a fucking sweet-as-pie email, too.”

“I think it’s just a joke,” Joe insisted. He was doing the thing with his voice when he was trying to calm an impending Stump meltdown. “The manuscript stops after five pages. It’s just you…being, well, you. Assertive. Eating lunch. Being, you know...”

“Do you know how many Academy Awards have been won by my clients? Do you know who got them those jobs in the first place?” Patrick said, and then took a breath. He counted to ten, and ignored Joe's laughter down the phone.

“I know, Patrick. You’re the baddest, most bestest agent in all the land. Now let me at least get a full half-hour of my lunch break.”

“Next time I get one, put it in the trash,” Patrick said, and then hung up.

 

Patrick had a wicked sweet tooth, which was why the best part of his lunch was draining the syrup at the bottom of the canned peaches. He was just shaking the remains when there was a knock at his door. He looked up and frowned. No one got to his door without Joe letting him know.

“Come in,” Patrick said, putting the empty can in the trash and wiping his mouth. He looked up as a vaguely familiar man stepped in the room. He took a seat without Patrick offering it, and looked nervously around the room. “I'm sorry. I don't think I know you. Nor was I expecting a meeting this afternoon.”

“No, I waited until your assistant had a bathroom break before I came in.” He leaned over and held out a tanned hand. Patrick paused briefly before shaking it. “I’m Pete. Pete Wentz.”

“Oh.” Patrick laughed, as everything slotted into place. “Last time I heard your name was when I was reading _People_ in the dentist's office. _Top Ten Washed-up Stars of the Noughties._ You were number eight.”

“I went through a hard time,” Pete shrugged. He actually looked pretty good considering the lifestyle Patrick remembered him living six or seven years back. They hadn't ever crossed paths. Patrick was still interning at a PR company when Pete was at his peak.

“Okay. Well, why are you here, Pete Wentz?” Patrick crossed his arms over his stomach and stared at the man. He hadn't been cast in a movie in years, maybe only a few direct to videos. He wasn't sure. He'd get Joe to research for him.

“I need to get my career back on track,” Pete started to say. He was staring down at the desk rather than in Patrick’s face. “I want you to represent me. As an agent.”

“Don't you already have one?” Patrick asked, not giving away anything else.

“I just fired them. When was the last time you saw me in anything?”

“I can't say I've kept up to date with your career.” Patrick knew his name of course. Started on a teen drama, but broke out in indie movie _Arma Angelus._ Pete was the rockstar, succumbing to the world of drugs and glamour. There was a particularly hot sex scene, Patrick recalled. But not much else. Pete’s life, if the tabloids were correct, mirrored that of his character. There'd been an award, a Bafta maybe, but then he'd trashed it all. 

“Right. You've basically turned around the careers of so many mediocre actors. You got Gabe Saporta James Bond...Gerard Way got an Academy Award and no one took him serious for years. You're the hottest agent in town, everyone wants you.”

Patrick silently preened. “So why should I put you on my books?”

“Because I want you to,” Pete said, and then nervously rested his hands on the desk, neat fingernails bouncing on the hardwood top. “I think you may be my only second chance left.”

Patrick considered it for a moment before coming to a decision. “I'm sorry, but I don't have any room on my books for another client right now.”

“Wait? What?” Pete sounded surprised, like he really was expecting something else.

“I'm sorry. Did you think I would be happy about someone bursting into my office with no appointment demanding that I take them on when they've shown no actual reason why I should hire them in the first place?” Patrick sat back and watched Pete's face flicker from annoyance to mild acceptance.

“I always heard you were a bitch,” Pete said, and Patrick laughed, wiggling from side to side in his office chair.

“Is that an insult? Because I'm not offended.”

“It isn't an insult. It's the truth,” Pete said. “I still think you should change your mind.”

“I'm expensive,” Patrick said, instead. “I bet you couldn't afford me.”

“Bet I could.” Pete stood up and smiled. Patrick felt like he lost, even though he'd been the one in control. He shook Pete's hand as it was laid in front of him, but then off Pete Wentz went, tail between his legs.

 

Patrick was almost too tired to go to the party that night. He was worn out from calls upon calls. And then for shouting at Joe for letting Pete worm his way past him to get to Patrick in the first place.

Patrick got to the party at ten-thirty and ordered a double whiskey at the bar built into the glass-walled pool-room. There was already a clutter of nearly naked models, giggling and splashing in the water. This was a show home, owned by the production company throwing the party. It probably used to be used for porno. Patrick moved from the room, nodding at everyone he knew and ignoring the eyes of those he didn’t.

After his whiskey, Patrick moved onto water instead. He couldn’t get wasted because unlike his clients on both sides of the fence, Patrick actually had to remain level-headed, and also, he never knew what kind of movie might get thrown his way.

Coke wasn’t Patrick’s idea of a good time, so he stayed away from the east side of the house. And didn’t touch the food, either. He wasn’t sure where it came from, or who. For a while, he was saved by Vicky, who was permanently cranky and refused to hire any of Patrick’s actors, but then she was gone and he was alone, sipping his water.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Patrick turned to see Pete standing there. He had a can of Coke in his hand, and a white, toothy smile on his face. Patrick continued to stare at him, pressing his lips to the glass in his own hand.

“How did you get in here?” Patrick asked, finally. He realized they were up against a wall, in the corridor. He leaned against it and stared up some more.

“I can get in anywhere. I’m Pete Wentz, that still means something to some people.” Pete was leaning in close. Patrick thought his breath would smell something like booze, like nearly everyone here that wasn’t an agent taking their job seriously.

“You’re still not in on my books,” Patrick gloated. “You having fun?”

“No. Shopping for a new agent. Not having much luck, though.” Pete moved, so that he was all up in Patrick’s personal space. Both hands were either side of Patrick’s body, and it was all a little too creepy. Patrick went with it, still trying to smile. “I think I’m all out of options.”

“Casting couches don’t exist in my universe. So you can stop touching me,” Patrick said. Pete’s breath was on his face. His hands inches from Patrick’s waist.

“Tell me where I'm touching you.” Pete smiled as Patrick tightened his own hand around the glass between his fingers. Wentz was smooth. If Patrick broke eye contact to look between their bodies, Patrick would lose power. If Patrick tried to push away he'd seem like a coward, and again, lose power. Instead he took a breath and then a sip of his water. The glass bumped into Pete's chin on the way to Patrick's lips. 

“Why me, Mr Wentz? I'm not easy to work with,” Patrick said instead. “If I didn't get my actors such good roles I'd probably be murdered by them.”

“Why would they murder someone as pretty as you.” Pete put his fingers on Patrick's wrist, the one that was holding the glass to his lips still. He moved it down and Patrick let him, even if he so bad wanted to move away. 

“I am pretty… good at my job,” Patrick caught himself and watched Pete smile at him. He could never be that arrogant about himself. Patrick worked what he had. “I can give you one chance. One second chance. You come to my office tomorrow morning and we'll sort out a contract. Now if you don't mind.”

Patrick sidestepped Pete and placed his empty glass of water on the closest surface. Pete was grinning at him and Patrick was feeling heated, though he said nothing of it. He needed to keep his cool and composure. Taking on Pete Wentz was probably the worst thing he could have done that night. _And_ he was sober. 

 

Patrick was feeling worse for wear the next morning. He was behind his desk, staring down at the video chat on his computer and listening to Gerard list all the reasons why he didn't need to go to the auditions Patrick had been booking him. 

“I deserve a break, Patrick. I just had to suffer an award season from hell. All those interviews, all those fittings for suits that I didn't get to pick,” Gerard wasn't looking at Patrick in the video, but down at the desk he was sitting at. “Let me have a break.”

“You can have a break, but not when your name is box office freaking gold, asshole. Once they forget about your name, I won't be getting any decent roles coming in for you. You’ll be back to creepy brother, or secret murderer that lives in the basement.”

“Have I had any good roles thrown my way?” he asked, clearly trying to sound like he didn't care at all. The amount of actors Patrick knew that couldn't lie for shit was remarkable. He thought they'd be better at it.

“There's been a few. You've been handpicked for a Netflix show. They want to see you test with the girl, but I think if it doesn't work out they'd recast her, not you. I need you to do this Gerard. Then I won't send anything your way. You can polish your statue all you want in your downtime.”

“Are you being crass?” Gerard asked, and Patrick raised his palms in faux innocence. “Fine. Send me the details. I’m not traveling for it, right?”

“No. They're filming here.” Well, they're testing at the studios, Patrick didn't know after that. It wasn't his job. “Now thank you for finally being a model client. Bye.” Patrick ended the call before Gerard could change his mind. 

Patrick sent over the details to Gerard via email, and then had the script sent by a private courier to Gerard's house. Only then did he leave his office to sit on Joe’s desk and complain about everything.

“What would be nice is a thank you. _’Thank you Patrick for always doing the best for my career, even when I make your life so shitty for it’. ‘Thank you Patrick for basically sucking my dick and acting like I'm amazing so people want to hire me even when I started my career as a rapist in Grey’s fucking Anatomy.’_ Patrick took a few deep breaths and watched Joe try and hide his laughter.

“So Gerard agreed to take the job?” 

“Eventually, yeah.” Patrick rubbed at his face, feeling so so drained and it was only ten-thirty. “I need you to research Pete Wentz for me. What he's been doing, _who_ he’s been doing. Career, kids, the usual. By the end of the day.”

“Wait…” Joe frowned, sitting heavily in his office chair. “The Pete Wentz that you yelled at me for letting in yesterday.”

“Yes.” Patrick didn't bother explaining the party the night before, how Pete had been there and somehow wormed his way into Patrick’s books. “I changed my mind. I need a new challenge. He's coming in at eleven.”

As Patrick had left Joe with a mountain of research to do, he went out himself to get coffee. Or green tea, because he wanted to kickstart a non existent health kick. It was meant to be calming, he figured. He salivated for five seconds over a glazed donut, but changed his mind. Nope. No donuts. Bad. There was an overpriced punnet of mango on the counter and he chose that instead.

By the time Patrick was back in his office, Pete was already chatting to Joe outside. They seemed to be getting on suspiciously well. Patrick sipped his green tea and left a coffee on the side for Joe. 

“Follow me,” Patrick said to Pete, opening his door with an elbow and walking inside. By the time he'd put his mango in the drawer, drunk half his green tea, and was sorting out a pile of papers on his desk, Pete was finally closing the door behind himself.

“Man, I like that dude. Totally not what I'd expect for an assistant.”

“That’s because I knew him before I hired him,” Patrick said. Joe was honestly only 50% great at his job, but 99% good at calming Patrick down. “I'm not here to talk about Joe. We’re here to get you a career.”

“Right.” Pete laughed and then sat down opposite Patrick. He looked around, like he was a little nervous. “So, uh. What's the plan.”

“I need to ask you some questions.” Patrick grabbed a pen and paper. He'd type it up afterward, but it went in better if he hand wrote things first. “Do you have a manager?”

“Not right now.” Pete hesitated. “I used to have one, but it disconnected me too much. I felt like I didn't have a say in anything.”

“Okay. I prefer it that way at first, unless my client is an asshole. Are you an asshole, Mr Wentz?”

“Yeah.” Pete laughed. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Patrick shrugged and the looked up. “Are you on drugs?”

“No. Wait, what? What is that to you?” 

“I have to be honest. I need my actors to be fucking good at their jobs because a bad rep for them means a bad rep for me. I'm not gonna hire you if you’re completely strung out, but if like some of my other clients you need a little something to get yourself through late-night shoots, I need to know about it.”

“What, so you can supply me?” Pete laughed at the absurdity. As if he hadn't been in the business fifteen years.

“I don't touch drugs, never have, but not doing drugs isn't an option for some and so I need to prepare myself for it. I know people who know people who supply clean stuff. I think it’s expensive, but it isn't cut with anything bad.”

“I don't do drug-drugs,” Pete insisted. “I'm on anti-anxiety and antidepressants but isn't everyone? And I take the right dosage.”

“That makes me feel better,” Patrick admitted. “Do you have PR? I know some good companies that you can switch over to if not.”

“I'm starting afresh. I fired everyone. Even really dated hangers-on, that haven't been my friends in years.” 

“That's good. I don't know if you’ve noticed but I'm a little bit of a control freak,” Patrick said softly. He put his pen down and took a sip from his cooling tea. “I’m gonna handle things myself until you’re out there, then I’ll hand you over to PR.”

“Okay, if you think that's best.” Pete shrugged. He was in a denim jacket covered in bad patches. Considering he was mid thirties at best, it was a little young for him. “Do you have a stylist or did you decide to come here today dressed like this?”

“You are so rude!” Pete laughed, and his cheeks turned pink through embarrassment. “I wear what I like.”

“Good. Fine.” Patrick shifted over to his computer and typed a few things in. “Alright, just your luck. New York Fashion week is in two weeks, I'm gonna get you a seat for an appropriate show, put you out there. You like fashion or whatever is in fashion, I can tell.”

“You don't like fashion?”

“I like what fits me,” Patrick answered. “I spend more money getting my suits tailored than I do buying them in the first place.”

“I always wanted to go to fashion week.” Pete said, sounding excited about the prospect. 

“I can bet. I'm gonna email you a list of people you can and can't hang out with. There will be drugs, but I don't want you associating with that if we’re trying to clean your image up. I’ll get you an interview. You like theater? I can hook you up with a role maybe.”

“No. I can’t...I'm no good in front of a live audience,” Pete said, shaking his head. “Haven't had an interview in years.”

“It will be a short one. About the show.” It sucked that Pete wouldn't do Broadway, theater was such a fucking good image rehabilitation machine. But okay. Patrick mentally flicked through the scripts and auditions he knew about recently. One immediately sprung to mind. “How’s your British accent?”

“Uh.” Pete looked confused. It was annoyingly adorable. Patrick never thought that about any of his clients. 

“HBO are putting their own spin on _Pride and Prejudice._ They've had a last-minute drop-out and have asked me to send some options. TV is where all the good roles are these days, it could be good for you.”

“I'm not sure if I'm cut out for period drama,” Pete started to say, but Patrick was basically his only hope. “Can I see the script?”

“I’ll email it. You've left your details with Joe, I presume. I want another meeting. This time at your house. I want to get to know the real you.”

“That is very presumptuous, Patrick!” Pete laughed, but Patrick did not. 

“I’m very invested in my clients’ careers. I need to make sure that I'm working with what you say I'm working with. If you like the script I can fast track you to the casting director. I think you'll be a good fit.”

“You know, when I told some friends I was hoping to sign with you they warned me off it,” Pete said, as Patrick started writing a list of notes again. “You’re known as the Scary Godmother.”

“I know,” Patrick said. “Because I work my magic and make all of their dreams come true.”

“You're not that scary though, just mouthy.” Pete laughed. Patrick tried really hard not to smirk back. Mom was the most prolific nickname he'd had, for being a nagging hassle that always had their backs. “I like Feral Bunny more.”

“Wait.” Patrick looked up. “What? Who calls me that?!”

 

Patrick went home that night with a whole stack of research from Joe. It was mostly cut and paste from a few different wiki sites, a few reviews on his biggest roles and some underground gossip from a movie forum. Patrick stashed it beneath his arm before picking Penny up from his dogsitter and having his driver finally take him home.

Patrick fed Penny and found an in-date salad in his refrigerator. He ate it hunched over his kitchen counter with a glass of white wine and then had a hot shower. He felt all the better for it and curled up on his couch with the stack of paper and started to read. 

_January 2015  
Pete Wentz, 34, recently announced his divorce from his third wife..._

_March 2015  
Despite previous reports that actor Pete Wentz was to divorce, it has since be announced they will be welcoming their second child in July. This will be the fourth child for Wentz. The couple met in rehab three years ago..._

_November 2015  
After much deliberating, former Bafta nominee Pete Wentz has confirmed his split with his current wife. They welcomed their second child only eight weeks prior to this announcement, though their relationship has been tumultuous from the beginning..._

“Well, fuck me,” Patrick muttered, taking a sip of wine. Four kids, three ex wives, and that was what was out there in public. He seemed like a walking disaster, a washed up actor with nothing going for him, a ton of kids to pay out for, and a bad rep in the press. “Why did I agree to this, Penny?”

His Pomeranian looked at him, head tilted on the side before she gave one quick yap and curled up into a ball. 

 

Patrick had Penny at Ryan’s house by ten thirty the next morning. He'd gone a little heavy on the wine the night before, and despaired about his decision to take Pete on until the early hours. He had a meeting with Andy on the set of his latest film, and he was determined to put the day before behind him. 

“I’m gonna pick up Penny for three-thirty,” Patrick said to Ryan, between texting three separate clients and ignoring Ryan’s heavy stare. “I over-tip and pay double than a regular client would. You're paid to look after my overindulged dog, please don't complain.”

“I hardly said a word,” Ryan drawled, taking the dog carrier from Patrick. He probably muttered a sarcastic goodbye, but Patrick was already picking up Joe's call as he walked away.

“Good morning,” Joe said brightly down the phone. “How did you get on with the research last night.”

“I fear I've made a shitty mistake taking him on. He's got more kids than sense, three ex wives and a shitty idea of a good time when it involved paparazzi. He also hasn't been in a decent movie in years. This is big.”

“Yup.” Joe laughed. “You only hired him because you think he's hot.”

“That is not true.” Patrick hadn't slept with a single client before. And if he did hire someone because they were hot, well then, they were just so charismatic onscreen, it didn't matter that they couldn't act for their lives. “I need you to draw up contract for me. Get one sent over from the attorney.”

“I’m on it, bud. Want me to send a courier over to his house with it?”

“No, you’re good,” Patrick said, climbing into the back of the car. “I think I’ll hand deliver it myself.”

 

Andy was actually one of Patrick's most talented actors. He was a little intense and had an unfortunate case of method acting in his back catalog, but he was legit. He was working on a boxing movie at the moment, where he played a sensitive cage fighter, who probably found love or something. Patrick hadn't read to the end of the script, he didn't know. 

“Oh, it's you,” Andy said softly, as Patrick stepped into his trailer on set. He was covered in enough fake bruises and blood that Patrick took a second glance in surprise. Then cleared space on the bench opposite and pulled off his own sunglasses, to stare at his best actor. 

“How’s it going?” Patrick said, and then dumped a wedge of paperwork on the foldout table. “You finish up this movie in a few weeks, right?”

“Yes,” Andy narrowed his eyes. “There may be some reshoots.”

“Maybe. But I've decided you need some press, some better press. You’re scheduled on Fallon next month.”

“What?” Andy's face fell open in horror. “I haven't got anything to promote. And since when were you PR?”

“I’m not, but you do have a movie releasing in six weeks and I want you to come across a bit more personable.” Patrick looked to Andy, in his fake bruises and tousled hair. “Plus you're working this whole troubled boxer look. It'd be good to get some press for it, right?”

“I don't live for that shit. I hate Hollywood.” Andy closed his eyes and laid back down on the couch again, thick arms folded over his chest. Patrick stood up and slid his sunglasses back onto his face, pushing the folder of paper over to Andy.

“Don't we all. Now read through your schedule and I’ll see myself out. You'll thank me one day, in your Oscar’s speech.”

“If I don't lose to Gerard again,” Andy said. Patrick shut the door quickly behind himself on that response. Maybe it was still a sore spot.

 

  
For the first time all week Patrick had a chance to eat proper food for his lunch. Decent sized meals were for people that were not as busy as Patrick, and as much as he appreciated meetings over lunch for getting him away from his canned fruit, it was also inappropriate to eat actual food when discussing clients and movie roles. 

So it was a Wednesday and Patrick was eating a spicy noodle soup by himself and enjoying it for the first time in forever. He turned his phone over so that he couldn't see any of the notifications popping up and enjoyed filling his stomach up with real food. 

Then it was back to the office, typing up emails, making some calls. He scheduled in another audition for Gerard, and then sent a demanding email to try and force him to go. Patrick's mouthy emails was like the sharpest whip against the backs of his primadonna actors. 

Patrick managed to grab Pete's address from Joe and sent a text to tell him to be home in an hour. So far Pete was an unemployed actor, he could stay in and wait for Patrick. They needed the contract signed; Patrick was trying not to second guess himself. 

Pete's house was okay. Patrick had a lot of clients in a lot of oversized villas, but Pete's was more moderate. Patrick jumped out of the car and told the guy to leave him, before he pushed open the gate, pleased that it was open. Pete hadn't text back, but he was clearly in.

He opened the door to Patrick, dressed in nothing but a low slung pair of shorts. He was damp all over, like he’d been swimming. Patrick gave him the once over. Too many tattoos, but they could be covered. 

“I'm here with the contract,” Patrick said. He motioned to the folder beneath his arm. “I’m thirsty. I want something to drink.”

“Better come in, then,” Pete laughed, opening the door wider. Patrick had a tall glass of grapefruit juice in front of him as they sat in the kitchen. It looked lightly used, as if Pete didn't spend a whole lot of time in there. Patrick said nothing about it and instead shifted the paperwork.

Patrick explained the details to Pete, the 15% commission he took from Pete's wage from every role he scored. He talked about what he expected from Pete, the fact that Pete could have a lawyer look over the contract to make sure it was right for him.

“I presumed you'd have one with you,” Patrick said. A twenty minute warning was enough time for even a guy of Pete's fame to have a lawyer sent over. The amount of divorces he'd gone through was enough proof he had at least one attorney he was well acquainted with. 

“I know you're legit,” Pete shrugged. “I trust you to do well for me.”

“I’ll do what I can.” Patrick took a long gulp of grapefruit juice, staring at Pete over the rim. “Did you look at the _Pride and Prejudice_ script?”

Pete's brow furrowed, and it annoyed Patrick some more. “I swear I studied that book in school. I don't remember the fingering in the meadow.”

“It’s HBO,” Patrick shrugged. “I said they were putting their own spin on it.”

Pete nodded, accepting it. “Has anyone else been cast yet?”

“They're pretty much ready to shoot. I don't think I mentioned the role, but it's Wickham. The actor was let out of the contract at the last minute.” Patrick didn't care for that type of disaster. He was just glad he wasn't the agent dealing with it.

“I kinda wanted Darcy,” Pete shrugged. “That’s the lead.”

“I'm good,” Patrick scoffed, “but even I can't get you leading man material as your first go. You get the hot sex scenes, you get to be the dick. Darcy is overrated. Be grateful.”

“Oh I am.” Pete leaned over to his fruit bowl and pulled a handful of grapes away from the vine. He crunched them in his mouth and stared at Patrick. “One day I might even be able to thank you for it.”

That was one of Patrick's lines, but he didn't bite. “You won't be winning any awards for this role, but in time you might come good. If you do as I tell you, go to the auditions I set up for you and don't even think about taking roles that are offered to you without consulting me.”

 

Patrick met up with Vicky for drinks after work. He'd gone home briefly, to drop Penny off, feed her and tell her he'd make it up to her. Patrick felt bad about leaving her, but he'd already agreed to going out about three days ago.

Vicky chose their drinking hole of destination that night, which meant a swanky, purple-lighted, white couched lounge bar, that just happened to have topless men serving drinks to them. Patrick took his bourbon from the waiter, eyeing him up slightly before turning to Vicky.

“Technically it isn't a strip club because they're already half naked,” she shrugged. “Plus, I needed the pick me up.”

“They serve their purpose,” Patrick agreed. He swallowed down the smooth burn and then leaned in closer. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing,” she shrugged instead. “Ugh, fuck it. I need to find a guy, Patrick. One that isn't overwhelmed by my career.”

“I can't help you there.” Vicky had it worse because she actually had to direct men in movies that clearly thought they were above her. Patrick could withhold casting information from his clients if they pissed him off, but she didn't have that luxury. “You remember Pete Wentz?”

She frowned, wine glass held up to her forehead. She was briefly distracted by the sweating pecs of a passing waiter before Patrick elbowed her side and she came back to the conversation. “The washed up actor from ten years ago?”

“Yeah him. I just signed him. I got him an audition for HBO, it's pretty much a secured role… I did the casting director a favor. Anyway.” Patrick waved his hand, cutting himself off. “I just signed a fucking washed up party animal with more ex-wives and kids than you can imagine and I don't even know why.”

“Is he cute?” she offered, but he pulled a face.

“That wouldn't sway me. Though he wants to sleep with me. I wouldn't do that, though. Obviously.” Patrick sometimes wondered whether his standards were so high, and that's why he'd been single for two years. Not enough to do anything about it though.

“Of course, Patrick. You are a paragon of virtue after all.” Patrick laughed, and clicked his glass against hers, leaning against her and enjoying the sight of the topless, overly beefy waiter giving him the come on from across the room. Patrick wouldn't go there, but he was flattered all the same.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick has a surprising offer and an even more interesting dinner party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter :)

Pete got the role of Wickham, though there wasn't much competition that Patrick had been aware of. Patrick had also hooked him up with a PR firm that had a rep at re-establishing washed up actors’ careers, he hadn’t worked with them before, but he was hoping for the best. 

But it was a Friday night and Patrick hadn't wanted to spend it at a party, schmoozing with directors and dealing with actors desperate for him to get them their next big break. So he was sitting in his bathtub, flossing his teeth and watching a teen drama from 2000 on the tablet propped up on the side.

It was as shitty as they all were, but Patrick had told Joe to source the old box set for him. It had Pete in it, before he had his big break. Patrick wanted to see the raw materials, what he was working with when there wasn't any ego in the way.

“Retro Wentz was kinda cute,” Patrick said, pulling the floss from his teeth and looking to Penny cleaning her paws in the doorway. Pete was better now, aged up and without the chipmunk cheeks and longer hair. The tattoos were awful, but he worked them pretty well. Patrick was warming up to him, but he didn't like it much. Maybe it was because Pete hadn't tired of Patrick's bitchiness yet, and still answered his messages from him with such eagerness. 

 

Patrick visited Pete on set of the show. It was like stepping back in time in a weird way. Usually sets felt fake, but Patrick had walked past enough breeches and full length skirts to feel like he had stepped back in time. He adjusted his sunglasses on his face and found Pete's named printed onto the front of one of the many trailers.

“It’s me,” Patrick said, by way of announcing himself. Pete was spread out on the couch, real sideburns but fake wig, thick make up covering the exposed, tattooed skin of his chest. Patrick found a bottle of water on the side and opened the cap, taking a deep sip as he sat opposite Pete. 

“You have a great ass, has anyone ever told you that?” Pete said, peeling his eyes open to stare at Patrick. Patrick pulled his glasses off and stared down at his client. 

“It may have been mentioned. Now let’s quit with the sexual harassment.” Patrick licked his lips and smirked briefly, but then stared down at Pete in his frilly white shirt. “How's it going on set?”

“It's better than I remember,” Pete said unperturbed, flicking away from flirting to something else. “I mean, the outfits are whack and I just had to fake finger a girl against a tree, but working on a set again, a real, non shitty one, is fucking amazing. Didn't think I'd have that chance again.”

“Then it's a good job you persuaded me to take you on.” Patrick took another sip of water, feeling dehydrated in the stuffy warmth of the trailer. “How's it going with the PR I set you up with?”

“Alright. They don't like you much,” Pete pointed out, but Patrick shrugged. “They gave me a treatment for this music video. I've been offered a role in it.”

“Wait… hold up.” Patrick didn't like the sound of PR finding jobs for Pete when it was his fucking job. He leaned forward and stared at Pete. The idea of a music video wasn't a bad reintroduction. But it was all in the treatment. “You get work through me, alright? No one else.”

“Yeah, I figured that much. They didn't want me to tell you.” 

“I'm going to ignore that part.” Patrick took a deep breath and then wriggled on the couch until he could sit with his legs folded beneath him. If he was gonna be stressed, he wanted to be comfortable about it. “What's the treatment?”

“I meet this girl in rehab an--”

“No.” Patrick shook his head immediately. “No way.”

“But wouldn't it be ironic to kinda symbolize the shit I'm known for already.”

“Perhaps, if we weren't in the process of trying to wipe your previous image from the minds of the public, but right now we need a new image out there for you before we reflect on the past. My God, how dumb are your PR?”

“Yeah. Okay.” Pete shrugged, like he felt like it was his fault. Patrick rolled his eyes some more, and then looked away with what he hoped was severe indifference.

“I actually like the sound of a music video appearance, but not like that. I'll find an indie band, a treatment that's kinda cool but isn't reflective on your life at all, so no drugs, no debauchery. Just a guy that people remember for winning awards all those years ago.”

“You're going to a lot of effort just for me,” Pete said, as if Patrick was doing it for anything other than the fact Pete was a client. 

“Don't take it so personally. You're paying me, remember?” Patrick smirked, and then stood up. “I'm gonna leave you to your fake fingering. I have other stuff to attend to, but I'll be in touch about a video. And tell your PR I'm really mad at them.”

“Anything else, sweetheart?” Pete said as Patrick made to leave the trailer. When he turned to look over his shoulder at his client, Pete's eyes were fixed firmly on one part of Patrick. It was completely cliche, but well, also ego boosting. Patrick just laughed and slammed the door loudly behind him on his exit.

 

The next day, Patrick was eating fruit cocktail out of a can when Gabe marched into his office and laid his long legs on Patrick's desk. One nasty look from Patrick had him dropping them back down onto the ground. Patrick swallowed a sweetened cherry and waited for Gabe to explain why he was even here.

“Dude. Have you fuckin heard the rumors? They're saying I'm the worst Bond ever,” Gabe huffed. His eyes flickered to Patrick's fruit and then up at his face again. “Worst than, like, the _worst_ one ever.”

“I don't make the movies, Gabe. If you didn't like the script you didn't have to take the role.” Patrick swallowed down a lump of mango before dropping his travel fork into the can. He licked his lips and stared at Gabe. Time to soothe one of his _many_ children. 

Gabe pulled a face, like a stroppy teenager. “But it's Bond! Why would I turn it down?”

“Exactly! And in five years time when they make another, they'll forget all about this one, but you’ll always have the honor of being him, you’ll still have had toy figures based on you, your likeness portrayed in video games and a hefty bank balance from it.” Patrick was desperate to finish his can of fruit, but he was too fucking busy parenting a dude with five years on him. “They gave an English role to a Uruguayan, who is one of the biggest movie stars in America right now, and you want to complain about that achievement?”

“I don't like bad reviews,” Gabe said, staring at his fingernails instead. “You know how they suck balls.”

“I don't get bad reviews. Perks of not being an actor,” Patrick said. Gabe’s lips pulled at the corners, tugging into a smile. “I know you're feeling shitty now, but just stop Googling yourself, read the scripts I send you and remember that mama is always here to kick your ass back off the ground when you're feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Thanks mom. Shitty pep talk as always, but I appreciate the intent.” Gabe stood up and leaned over the desk. He pecked Patrick's cheek in a way he probably thought was cute, but Patrick wiped his fingers over the damp spot on his cheek. “I'm gonna just not leave the house for a month. Don't pester me, I plan on staying drunk the entire time.”

“Don't ignore me or I'll show up at your house and really fucking annoy you with my not so sweet side,” Patrick said, pulling the can of fruit cocktail back into his lap and scooping a slither of pineapple up. Gabe flipped him off, but then he was gone, with a little more of a spring in his step than before he came in.

 

Patrick had a day off, his first in ten days. He had to leave his work phone in the office, locked in Joe's desk, who had the key. Because Patrick was a workaholic, but also because not one of Patrick's clients realized he didn't work 24/7 and liked to nag him whenever they wanted.

He slept in late, and fussed Penny curled up next to him. Then she wanted feeding so he went downstairs, filled her bowl up, made himself a coffee and went through the process of throwing away all of the out of date food from his refrigerator. There was a big bowl of watermelon salad he'd made a week back, in the hopes he'd be able to have bowls of something fresh and tasty when he was home, but he never had a chance to try it and it'd all wilted. 

Patrick ate two large bowls of cereal, because it was his day off, and he could. There wasn't anyone around to tell him otherwise. Then he figured he needed to fill the refrigerator up with food he wouldn't eat again, just because having nothing in the refrigerator would be even worse. 

By the time he was back from the grocery store, with more food than he'd ever eat, he didn't know what else to do. He put on a cap, clipped the leash to Penny’s collar and drove out to a park. Patrick ignored the busiest part of the park and walked away from it. He wasn't really a people person and he didn't want to land himself in any meet cute with his dog in tow. 

He stopped for an ice cream in a clearing of trees. There was a few families dotted around, Patrick ate his ice cream and watched for a moment as a guy put his arm around his wife as they shared an ice cream and kisses. When he looked over, Patrick quickly looked down at Penny. For a moment, he wanted it, wanted someone to come home to, to put their arm over him and to share food with. But then, that would only be once every ten days, Patrick wasn't home long enough otherwise. Oh well. He finished his ice cream and stood up. 

Patrick ate tacos alone by himself that evening. Penny had gone to bed and there was nothing to do but watch TV. He finished the box set of the TV show Pete was in. He watched him die, knocked over outside the school on graduation day. Pretty good acting despite the shitty plot. It felt quieter than normal, alone in his empty house. He went to bed early, rather than dwelling on it, and fell asleep next to his fluffy dog.

 

Patrick had a meeting with Suarez and Blackinton the next morning. He hadn't picked his work phone up from the office, so he hadn't had his blood pressure raised at all. Everything was running smooth, or so he liked to imagine.

“Right, so the thing i--”

“We just cut a _mega_ deal--”

“And right--”

“Dude, let me talk.”

“Let _me_ say it.” Patrick ate his bagel as the two men in front of him bickered. They were a writing duo, just off a hit TV show and were the biggest thing around in the business. This year at least. Patrick already knew what they were gonna tell him because he knew everything, but he let it play out. Listening to them argue was soothing in its own way. 

“So we wrote a script for Batman and it's been be greenlit. We got a good deal, like, down to casting.” Patrick raised his eyebrows, swallowing down his mouthful. Clearly they had got an awesome team of attorneys behind them. 

“You want someone I've got?” Patrick asked. 

“We've got someone in mind, yeah. Only it's kinda complicated,” Suarez said, taking over from Ryland. He looked to his friend before back at Patrick. “Do you think Andy Hurley would be down for it?”

“It's Batman,” Patrick shrugged. Andy was as annoyingly method as they got, last year he'd immersed himself in life as a cage-fighter, the most terrifying moment of Patrick's life had been when he'd been invited to watch him fight. God knows where Batman would take him. To a cave no doubt. “I feel like there's a catch. What is it?”

“It's a two-man show. Two Batmen,” Ryland swallowed, like he was nervous for Patrick's reaction. “And not like twins. Like there's this mirror and like...”

“Dude, don't give it all away,” Suarez whispered. And then held his hands up apologetically. “Sorry, Patrick. We had to sign a ton of NDA forms, but you have some awesome actors on your roster and we want an interesting duo. Two that you know would work well together.”

“I have a few people that would work, maybe. On the little you've given me.” Patrick stared at them both, hating himself momentarily for the face that popped into his head. “You want someone obvious or a little off-center.”

“Always off center,” Ryland joked. “But like, you know, workable.”

“I’ll email you in the next few days with some names. If you agree to testing any of them, I want in on some of the script. And they get first refusal.” Patrick watched them both nod before holding out his hand. “Good. I’ll be in touch.”

Patrick locked himself in his office and listened to the twenty-five voice mails he'd received. Only three were worthy of a call-back, two he'd email about, but the rest he deleted. He sat and thought about things for a moment. If casting was in part on him, he knew he needed two guys with chemistry. They didn't need to like each other, but they had to work well.

“Joe!” Patrick stormed out of his office with a bad idea on the tip of his tongue. Joe looked up from what appeared to be a power nap. “I have a terrible idea. Help me out.”

“Is this about the meeting you had earlier. Is it about...you know...Batman.”

“How do you know about that?” Patrick whispered, just in case anyone else was around. He wagged his finger and pointed at his office.

“You know I'm friends with Ryland,” Joe shrugged, following Patrick into the office. “They came to you for casting?”

“Yeah. Apparently they need two actors for Batman, and they need to have good chemistry. They want me to put some names forward for testing,” Patrick said. There may have been some NDA forms signed, but Patrick hadn't been forced to sign any yet, and Joe was his assistant/best friend. “You know how sensitive actors get about this shit so I wanna see them all communicate with each other. I need a good ruse.”

“A party?” Joe offered. “Have you ever thrown one before?”

“No.” Patrick only went to parties, never hosted them. He rubbed at his forehead and tried to think things over. “Wait. Okay so Gerard won the Academy Award. This could be a congratulations dinner.”

“Would Andy show up? He lost the award to Gerard. And that was over three months ago. It's a little late,” Joe laughed but Patrick batted his hand. That didn't matter.

“Send all of the top tier men an email. Tell them mama's hosting a party and if they don't show up they're getting fired. And Frank, so he doesn't bitch me out when he finds out.” Patrick watched Joe write it down in his phone, smirking at the last person. “Add Pete Wentz to the list.”

Joe looked up, surprised. “Why?”

“Because he's pretty good and I wanna give him a chance. The tenacity he had to show up in here with nothing but a bad history… I dunno. He deserves a chance,” Patrick said, trying to think of a few venues to host his party. And not of how he just pushed Pete about five rungs up the ladder.

Of course Joe picked up on it. “Well if he gets this then I gotta say, mama's playing favorites. You got him that Pride and Prejudice job.”

“Not favorites. I got Gabe Bond remember? Can you look into good venues? I want it as a casual dinner. Somewhere that has good dessert. And vegan, for Andy.” Don't turn red, don't turn red, Patrick told himself. Joe didn't tease any further, just left the room with a promise to give Patrick a list of venues within the hour. As Patrick waited for the email from Joe he raked through his inbox. He had one that read script:draft one. He didn't know the sender's email, but he opened it all the same.

_Patrick sits at his desk, searching his emails, hoping for something. It's on his face, the desperation in the wrinkling of his brow._

NARRATOR: You're lonely. Lonely to the deepest ache of your bones. Skin hasn't touched skin in so long, has it? No wonder the air of taut anger swells around you, protecting you from your deepest fear. But I know, Patrick. I know. 

 

“Oh for fucks sake.” Patrick read the small segment of the script. Maybe his dinner party would reveal the writer of this bullshit. He'd almost forgotten the first script, but it was clearly an ongoing joke. He searched the email address but it was one of those ten-minute addresses. He deleted it from his inbox and emptied the trash, sulking at his desk until he had the shortlist of venues sent over from Joe next door. Patrick picked by menu and went for the one with the best dessert and a private VIP area. Then it was done; onto the next phone call.

Patrick got word back from most of his actors agreeing to go to the dinner party. Even Andy, who seemed annoyed about it, and Gerard who seemed disappointed it had come so late after his winning. Patrick just told him he wanted the good vibe to last and left it at that. 

Pete hadn't officially RSVP'ed and Patrick hadn't heard from him for a while anyway, so he went to visit him on the last day of set. Patrick had found an indie band with a treatment that involved Pete wandering around the forest looking lost. It wouldn’t be a stretch.

As he showed up on set, Patrick watched a sex scene from the corner, eating a shiny green apple as Pete humped the actress from behind. He got bored after the third take and so waited for Pete in his trailer. It was a lot messier than before, with stacks of paperbacks and a few photographs. Christ, Pete had a lot of kids. Patrick joked about parenting his clients, but Pete actually made the cute little gremlins. 

“Uh.” Patrick looked up to see Pete standing there, frazzled in his breeches. He looked confused to see Patrick sitting on his couch, staring at personal photos. “What are you doing here?”

“Checking in.” Patrick put the photo down and watched Pete sit opposite him. His sideburns had grown in bushy and wild. Patrick knew a thing or two about sideburns from past fashion disasters, but these were something else. “Nice fake fucking.”

“You were _watching?”_ Pete sounded scared at the thought, dropping his face into his hands. “I’ve had three explicit sex scenes on this shoot. They never get any less awkward.”

“Your moves were fine. They’ll edit the weird shit to look good.” Patrick lifted his head when Pete stood up, fumbling about in a zipped washbag. He grabbed an electric razor and plugged it in, rubbing at his coarse face. “You’re shaving in here?”

“Last day of shooting. They can slap some fake chops on if there’s any reshoots, but I can’t take any more of this face fuzz.” Pete fumbled with the right extension, just long enough for Patrick to roll his eyes and stand up.

“Here let me. We can make a movie moment out of it,” Patrick said. He grabbed the razor from Pete and forced him down onto the closest chair. He turned it on and off a few times, before standing between Pete’s legs. He placed gentle fingertips on the side of Pete’s face and stared at him briefly. “So now that I’ve got a blade against your face, wanna tell me why you didn’t respond to my invite?”

“Jesus, Patrick.” Pete jumped when the razor turned on, like he was forgetting it had a safety guard. Patrick shaved through the thick hair, watching it tumble off his face and over Pete’s military uniform. “I dunno. I guess I didn’t think it was serious. You called yourself mama.”

“You may have heard that some call me the scary godmother, feral bunny and so forth. Some like to call me mom because I look after them, you know. Patrick is like the least popular thing I go by.”

“You’re more like a mean stepmother.” Pete stopped talking when Patrick made a sharp turn with the razor on his face. He brushed his fingers across the bare skin beneath briefly before continuing.

“Right. Either way, I was using it as a term of endearment toward myself.” Patrick was aware that Gabe had Patrick’s number under _milf_ in his phone and he liked to show everyone when he was drunk. “Would a mean stepmom get you third billing in a HBO show?”

“Nah. Alright,” Pete shrugged. He looked at Patrick briefly before looking away. His skin was warm beneath Patrick’s deft fingers. It was nice to touch. Patrick only ever got to stroke Penny, who was soft and fluffy, but not really a human. “What’s so special about your party though?”

“Nothing really. But I’ll be there, and you can meet some more of my clients. It will be like networking, but with other actors.” Patrick ran the razor over the last black tuft attached to Pete's jaw and then thumbed it off. He brushed Pete's face off as best as he could with his own hands and then stepped away.

“You threatened to fire me if I didn’t show, so I guess I better go.”

“You don’t sound happy about it.” Patrick looked away as Pete stood up, dropping the jacket, and white shirt to the floor. Patrick rinsed his hands in the sink as Pete answered.

“Yeah, no. It’s cool and all, but when I’m sober my social anxiety is through the roof. I won’t know anyone there but you. It’s sort of terrifying.”

“I didn’t wanna go either, so I made sure to check the dessert menu out and they had the best cheesecake selection. You just have to do things you don’t wanna do sometimes, so you reward yourself.”

“So the answer is cheesecake.” Pete was tugging on a t-shirt as Patrick turned to face him. When his head pulled through the neck of the shirt, his face still looked a little patchy from the shave. Not Patrick's best work. 

“For me, yeah. The reward will be cheesecake. You might not like cheesecake though, so you’ll have to find your own reward.” Patrick stood up straighter and tried to make himself seem sharper again. “I need you to come to this, alright? Gerard Way’s coming and I think he’ll have you beat on anxiety-based bullshit.

 

Patrick had tried to force Joe into coming to the dinner party but he flat out refused, only offering to dogsit Penny for the night. Ryan got pissed when his evenings were interrupted so Patrick didn’t want to bug him about it.

“I’m just your lowly assistant,” Joe said, as Patrick stood at his front door. “And you love me too much on a personal scale to fire me for not doing what you want.”

“Yeah alright,” Patrick admitted. He tugged at his button down and scuffed his feet. “I’m gonna be in a room with all of my most arrogant, self-indulgent actors. How the fuck am I going to survive?” Patrick asked, because even if Joe rarely knew the answers, he knew how to bullshit them.

“You’ll survive how you always do.”

“By eating way too much sugar?” Patrick said, and Joe nodded. He knew not to ruffle Patrick's carefully quiffed blonde hair and just squeezed his shoulder instead.

“Right on. Go have fun.”

Patrick was never first to arrive for anything, and even though technically it was _his_ party, he was fourth to arrive behind Andy, Pete, Gerard and Frank. No way was Frank in the running for a role in Batman, he was a standard character actor and not much else, but for appearance sake he worked. Plus, he actually got on well with Gerard, which stopped any nagging for Patrick.

“Where’s Gabe?” Andy asked quietly, when they were all looking at the menus. Patrick watched Pete nervously pick at his nails, before turning to Hurley. “Still sulking about the reviews for Bond?”

“Pretty much. He came in for a chat recently, told me to leave him to suffer in peace.” Patrick flicked through the menu before swapping it for the desserts. “Mommy’s giving him time to brood before breaking up the atmosphere.”

“You can't just eat pudding,” Andy said to Patrick, when he saw him looking over the dessert menu. “All that sugar will kill you eventually.”

“Well, something's gonna get us all,” Patrick said. He looked up at Andy, sitting calm and too still against Patrick. He was irritatingly serious about acting, but he was pretty decent; the most decent at the table. Patrick lowered his voice and leaned closer. “Can you go talk to Pete. He doesn't know anyone.”

“He's a mediocre washed up soapstar.”

“Play nice for me, Andy. You're getting something awesome out of this,” Patrick said. Andy narrowed his eyes at Patrick, like he was trying to suss something out. “He never did any soaps either. Teen dramas don't count.”

“I'll do it if you order some veg before any sugary mess?” Andy offered. It was an okay deal. He nodded and then watched Andy get up and trade places with William. 

William was probably the worst A-list actor on Patrick's books, but he was the prettiest and that got him far in life. Patrick let him whither on at him, after they ordered. Patrick ordered green beans and cherry cheesecake. He knew no one else would stick around for dessert, for “movie” reasons, and he wants the gold now.

“So congrats, Gerard. This party is for you,” Patrick said, when he tired of the earache Bill was giving him. 

“This is the lamest party ever. Where's the theme? Why are we in a VIP section of a lame restaurant.” Frank leaned forward from where he'd been talking to Gerard and took a large gulp of his water

“Shut up, Frank,” Patrick said. “It was a little ruse really. I wanted to touch base with you all. Make sure--”

“So this wasn't about me?” Gerard frowned, looking disappointed

“It can be if you want it to,” Patrick shrugged. “How's the comics going?”

Patrick was smart and knew that would trigger a conversation he wouldn't have to be a part of for at least twenty minutes. He blurred out the sound of Gerard’s enthusiasm and looked around the room instead. There was some guys chatting at the furthest part of the table, snapping selfies and taking videos. Patrick waited for his green beans to arrive and started on those as he took a sneaky glance at Andy and Pete. They were talking, or at least Andy was and Pete was nodding along, looking a lot calmer than he had before. 

Patrick left the table to use the restroom after he'd finished his food. It was, quite possibly, the most boring dinner party ever, and pointless to everything but his own conscience. He rinsed his hands, not noticing the door open and close until he turned around and saw Pete standing there.

“You are such a fucking asshole. Why did you do that? Invite me to a dinner with all the biggest stars?” Pete was turning red, fingers clenched tight into fists. “You wanted to humiliate me.”

“Uh…” Patrick frowned, backing into the sink when Pete stepped closer. “I didn't. I wanted to see how you interacted with Andy.”

“Wait. What?” Pete's expression changed, just enough for Patrick to flatten himself to the wall rather than the sinks.

“It's nothing. It's not. Don't listen to me,” Patrick said, hoping he hadn't said too much. “Anyway, I didn't _just_ invite A-lists. Frank is here.”

“Well. Like. His character acting is intense,” Pete shrugged and then moved closer. Patrick knew what was going to happen because he was good at reading situations and it had been brewing and bubbling for a while. Patrick's head bumped off the wall when Pete kissed him, but then Pete's hands slipped behind, to cushion his skull. And it was only because Patrick hadn't been kissed in forever that he let it happen. Pete was good, like he was forcing all of his anger at Patrick, pushing him into the wall. It went on for a solid ten seconds, just enough time for Patrick to put his hands on Pete's warm chest and push him away.

“No. No no _no._ You can't do that,” Patrick said, wiping at his mouth. His lips tingled and his heart was beating fast. “You can't do that, Pete.”

“Okay.” Pete shrugged, looking disappointed. Patrick stared at him, in the dumb denim jacket and the nice dark eyes. “You kissed back, though.”

“Maybe, but I'm like two seconds away from sealing you a fucking awesome deal and I cannot do that when you're shoving your tongue down my mouth. You see my issue with that?” A stranger walked into the bathroom and Patrick pulled Pete around the corner, tucked between the wall and a cubicle.

“Has this got something to do with Andy, then? Is that what you were saying?” Pete asked. “I know you're anti-casting couch shit.”

“I do not do that. I don't want to sleep with any of those idiots out there, I say it as it is. And then you come in all… you know… and I'm already turning heads by moving you up through the ranks already.”

“What makes you do that?”

“Dunno.” Patrick shrugged. “At first I thought you were a good challenge, but you worked your ass off for HBO and you're taking it seriously. I like what you're doing and even like _some_ of your back catalog. None of that has come from feelings I may or may not have for you. Okay?”

Pete nodded. “Okay.”

“Good. And so now that's clear, I need you to move so I can sort out your career _and_ finish my cheesecake.” Patrick sidestepped Pete, and pulled his button down neater. Not before Pete curled his fingers around Patrick's wrist and pulled him back. 

“So no more kissing in restrooms then?” Pete asked, his mouth brushing the shell of Patrick's ear.

“Not tonight. No.” Patrick pulled out of Pete's grip and tilted his chin, trying to regain some form of composure. Thankfully Pete had the good sense to wait five minutes after Patrick sat down before rejoining the table. Everyone was complaining about the party, as if they'd expected great things in the first place.

“If you like to party, Gabe’s the best guy to go to,” Andy said to Pete, when Patrick was eavesdropping ten minutes later.

“Do you like to party?”

“No.” Andy shrugged. “Nor does Patrick. He only shows up when he has to. He's getting us cast in a role together so he's trying to be undercover about things. He isn't very good at it, though.”

“Right. Is that wise, I dunno? I'm kinda new to this again.” Pete sounded uncertain and naive. Thank God Andy was a sound guy. Pete shouldn't be so vulnerable about strangers, especially ones that were technically competition.

Andy shrugged and Patrick leaned forward, to try and catch more. “ Patrick has good intuition. If he thinks you're good for a role, then you're good enough. The fact that he clearly wants to sleep with you is irrelevant to getting roles. He got Gabe Bond and he wouldn't touch that wreck with a barge pole.” Patrick choked and tried to hide it with a satisfactory hum from the food. Fucking Andy was obviously the one with all the good gossip. Even if it was _completely_ false.

 

Patrick sat at Joe's desk the next morning with his head full of thoughts. The touch of Pete on his skin had been there all night, pathetically keeping Patrick awake until the early hours. He could have Pete, maybe, and not give him over to Ryland and Alex, or he could give him the best role he could have and not let it get to how it got the night before.

“You’re putting Wentz forward, right?” Joe said, coming into the room. “Last night didn't convince you otherwise.”

“Last night was a mess,” Patrick said. “But no one else convinced me. Gerard is not interested in acting at the moment, Gabe’s a no show and honestly? I'm not putting anyone else forward. There's better names for the role with different agents, but I think Pete could do it.”

“Then put him forward,” Joe said, clapping Patrick's shoulder. “Did something else happen though? You seem jumpy.”

“No. I'm good.” Patrick rubbed at his face and then sighed. “I'm gonna send the email. I'll let you know if I need anything.”

Patrick sat at his desk with his hands folded together after he sent it. It was the right thing to do. Pete deserved the chance, he got on fairly well with Andy from last night and they looked a good match side by side. It was just going to complicate things a little more. 

 

It was only five minutes later when he had a call back from Ryland. “Dude, Pete Wentz the noughties star? That is so whack that I love it.”

“Yeah. How much control are you having over this?”

“A lot. We basically wrote one of the Batman roles for Hurley, we wanted an unlikely partnership. We have final say over casting, we had it written into the contract. If we really like Pete we can get him in.”

“I think you will,” Patrick said. “Okay, so if that's good, I'm gonna let them both know.”

“We'll need to get you all in to sign NDA forms. We’re really trying to keep shit under the radar right now.” Patrick nodded along but said nothing about how Joe had known about it through Ryland in the first place. When he hung up he immediately arranged a meeting with Andy for the next day, he could never get him into the office, but Patrick could find where he was tomorrow and work things out.

“Pete, where are you today?” Patrick said, when he called him up. He kicked his feet up onto the desk and looked up at the ceiling. “I need to see you about a role.”

“The one that has something to do with Andy?” Pete offered. Patrick sighed and rubbed at his head until Pete continued. “I'm in a hotel. I've got a big interview with a magazine. My PR said it was good, like a reintroduction. I dunno. I just hope I don't say anything stupid.”

“You probably will, but what's important is you don't say anything damning. Just talk about your kids, don't get political. It will go fine, but I need to see you in person. Give me the hotel and room number and I'll be over in the hour.

Apparently, it was a ‘closed interview’ and Patrick wasn’t on the checklist of people allowed in the room. Patrick spent five minutes trying to get past the staff before he told them to tell Pete that his mom was here for a visit. They looked at him funny and left briefly before finally allowing him into the room.

Everyone turned to look at Patrick. Everyone being Pete sitting on the bed, a bored photographer fiddling with equipment in the corner and a pretty journalist with a dictaphone and curious look on her face. Pete was in a striped shirt that clearly wasn’t his own, and looked relieved Patrick had turned up.

“You need to fire your PR. They wouldn’t let me in,” Patrick said to Pete, ignoring the woman in the corner.

“But you hired them for me.”

“That was just to help your image overhaul. It makes you seem self-important imposing those kinds of demands. You’re not that important yet,” Patrick said. He sat on the bed beside Pete and looked over at the journalist. “It’s true, right? You don’t have the career for those demands to come off well.”

“Sorry, I guess.” Pete grimaced, looking between Patrick and the journalist. “I hope I haven’t come across too self-important.”

“Not at all.” She smiled politely. “Shall we continue?”

Patrick ignored them both as the interview started up some more. He walked into the bathroom, where the stylist had left out a ton of different shirts for Pete. He wrote three emails on his phone as the interview continued, hearing his name in the other room every so often. When he was finished, he walked back into the room again and sat in the corner, staring at the snacks in the mini bar.

“You can have the m&ms,” Pete said, when he got to the end of an awkward rambling question. Patrick shrugged and looked away as Pete explained to the journalist. “This kid lives off candy. It’s crazy, but I guess he deserves it for putting up with us.”

Patrick didn’t particularly appreciate being called a kid when he was the most competent one in the room, but he accepted Pete’s offer. He hated the taste of m&m’s really, but sorting them into colored stripes before he ate them one by one passed the time. He caught the journalist's eye at one point and hoped to God that this didn’t see light of day in the interview. He could leave and hang out in the bar for a little, but after the dramatics of getting into the room, he didn’t want to leave again.

It was nearly forty-five minutes before the interview was up. Pete had warmed up by the end, making crazy metaphors up on the spot, talking with his hands. He flirted with the journalist, but only enough to seem accommodating, never crossing the line into creepy. He shook her hand when their time was up, Patrick was on his last three red m&m’s, but stood up to shake her hand too. The photographer had left at some point, so Pete had clearly done all the modeling before Patrick had arrived.  
“I think that went okay,” Pete said, when they were left alone. “I feel dumb in this shirt.”

“More than in your normal clothes?” Patrick offered, finishing off the m&m’s and grabbing a water to swallow the taste away. He watched Pete pull the shirt off and fold it carefully. “So, are you done for the day?”

“I think so? PR showed up with a stylist, but then they had something else to do and left…I dunno. I guess they’ll come back for the clothes?” Pete was clearly looking to Patrick for the answer, who didn’t know. This wasn’t his side of the fame machine.

“I’m gonna arrange someone new to deal with you, I don’t like the direction they’re taking you in,” Patrick said. He quickly wrote it in his phone’s memos so he wouldn’t forget. Pete hadn’t bothered putting on a shirt as he took a seat beside Patrick. “I feel like I’ve turned into your manager and agent.”

“I don’t mind,” Pete shrugged. He looked Patrick up and down. “How did I do?”

“Good, I think. She thought you were hot and you made yourself seem sympathetic, I don’t think you’ll get a terrible edit.”

“And what are you really here for?” Pete asked. “You’ve kept me wondering all day. Since last night.”

“Right okay.” Patrick tucked his feet up beneath himself and turned to Pete. “I had an unusual offer. There’s this writing duo that are big right now. They just came off a Netflix show.”

“Suarez and Blackinton?” Pete said and Patrick nodded his head, everyone knew their name right now.

“Yeah, and somehow they’ve scored themselves an amazing deal. They’ve sold their script to a big company and they’ve kept full control over everything, including casting. They wrote one of the characters for Andy and they came to me with any ideas for someone to co-star. If they like you, you’ve got first refusal.”

Pete’s face creased up. “But, why me? Out of everyone?”

“Andy’s got a big presence in movies and most of my guys are kind of… weird? They work well with certain people, but not with Andy. I put that shitty dinner party on to see how you got on with him. Apparently, the chemistry is integral to the plot. It’s still hush-hush, I’ve not been let in on the script yet.”

“Oh wow.” Pete was nodding his head, before he frowned. “Can I get any kind of clue?”

“It’s Batman. There’s two Batmen, you and Andy.” Patrick watched Pete’s reaction, which was the same as any dude that thought they might get to play Batman. He laughed solidly for around five minutes, interjecting it with panicked cursing.

“Now I get why you couldn’t kiss back,” Pete said with a goofy expression on his face. Patrick tried his hardest not to smile back, but he couldn’t help it. It was pretty infectious.

“I’m gonna get a lotta heat for giving this opportunity to you. There are better qualified actors with different agencies that would work well with Andy, but with my guys I think you’re the best and I think you could make it work, whatever the plot is.” Patrick allowed himself to be candid about things for the first time in forever. “I don’t ever play favorites, but you’re my pet project and we’re really doing good right now.”

“Don't call me a pet,” Pete said, sounding disgruntled, and breaking Patrick’s heartfelt speech.

“You referred to me as kid in that interview, so don’t whine,” Patrick said. Pete looked down, guilty. “But you’re right. That’s why I couldn’t kiss you back. I don’t do those kinds of favors, not for anyone and definitely not for sex.”

“But you want to?” Pete asked and Patrick tightened up. He wouldn’t go there, wouldn’t flirt like that.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Patrick insisted. “We need to maintain a professional working standard.”

“Do we?” Pete smirked.

“Don’t,” Patrick warned. “Or I’ll screw everyone over and give Batman to Frank.”

“I’m just saying I don’t think you should fight it. It’s not like anyone would know, PR would kill me for flaunting a gay affair with my agent when I’m trying to show my sweet and sensible side,” Pete said. He walked over to the mini bar and grabbed two small bottles of something alcoholic. He passed one to Patrick, twisting the cap on his own. “I say we celebrate this and talk more later.

“Fine,” Patrick said. He twisted the cap and swallowed down the drink. It wasn’t much, but Patrick was living on a stomach of m&m’s; it got the smallest spark of a buzz going. “I need to evaluate things first, before I go any further.”

“Does evaluate mean panic at Joe for a while?” Pete asked, sitting on the bed again. Patrick could feel his body heat radiating from him, and he almost wanted to inch closer.

“Pretty much,” Patrick admitted, shutting his eyes briefly.

Patrick didn't plan to fall asleep exactly, but when he did open his eyes the room felt significantly darker. He sat up in shock and looked around. Pete was laying beside him on the bed, the TV muted. 

“Oh shit. What time is it?” Patrick looked at his watch, but his eyes were still blurry. He fumbled for his phone instead and saw it was four-thirty. Not terribly late, but he was due back at the office an hour ago. “I just shut my eyes for a moment.”

“It's probably just a sugar crash. I don't think I've ever seen you eat real food before. I can order room service,” Pete offered, sitting up. He was still shirtless and it was still a distraction once Patrick’s eyesight had focus.

He should say no, should get back to the office and then head off to Ryan’s to pick up Penny. But he was hungry, and he didn't really want to move for a good half hour. “Sure. You pick, I'm gonna go wash up.”

Patrick told himself he was playing a dangerous game. He didn't do relationships and he rarely did sex these days, and Pete maybe, possibly, could give him the second if Patrick didn't believe in an ethical workplace. He washed his face and hung his suit jacket on the back of the bathroom door before rolling his sleeves up. Patrick was being dumb by staying any longer, but he didn't care to think about it anymore.

“I ordered pizza,” Pete said, when Patrick came back into the room. “It’s kinda my thing.”

“We all have our vices,” Patrick shrugged, sitting on the edge of the bed again. He rubbed at his eyes, wishing he had his glasses with him. His eyes were feeling dry and itchy. 

They sat in silence as they waited for the pizza to arrive. Patrick didn't really know what to say, whether he should say anything, and Pete wasn't trying to fill the void with useless chatter either. He seemed content. When the pizza did arrive it was plain, because Pete didn't know if Patrick was veggie or not.

“I know you like sweet stuff, but not any actual food,” he shrugged. “Margarita is probably too safe.”

“It's fine. I eat meat,” Patrick said, and then when Pete gave him a filthy look, he turned his face away. “Can I ask how many kids you have? I read conflicting reports.”

“Down to the heavy stuff already.” Pete swallowed his mouthful. “Five. My oldest was born when I was a teenager, she's seventeen and I kept her and her mom out of the press. She's the one people forget or don't know about. She's in Chicago, I got one in New York and the younger three all here in California. I see them all, I'm a good dad. I rarely see them all at once, but I try.”

“You don't have to explain yourself to me,” Patrick said, but Pete shrugged like he hadn't taken it that way.

“Aside from your clients do you have any? Kids, I mean.”

“I have a Pomeranian,” Patrick joked. “Though she spends more time with the dogsitter which I feel bad about. It's just me and Penny.”

“No husband?” Pete pried some more, and Patrick just rolled his eyes.

“No ring.” Patrick wiggled his hand at Pete. “No husband, no boyfriend. No one would want to, I'm never at home and I spend most of my time surrounded by A-list actors. That makes men jealous and jealousy wastes my time.”

“I could see that. I bet you get a ton of offers though,” Pete shrugged and it was the type of flirting Patrick didn't get. He didn't think he was hot and he couldn't understand why anyone else would either.

“I never notice and we can stop this conversation. It's boring me now,” Patrick said, biting down on a slice of the pizza. Pete was still staring at Patrick, at his white shirt, unbuttoned at the top, down to Patrick's legs and then up again. Dirty, but Patrick said nothing. 

Patrick left not long after they finished the pizza. Not because he wanted to, in fact, he could have stayed there all night, but he didn't want to give Pete any kind of ideas when Patrick himself was feeling completely clueless about what it was he was even getting into. 

“I'm going to see Andy tomorrow, but I'll arrange a meeting with Ryland and Alex, see if they like you in person,” Patrick said, as he slid his arms into his suit jacket again. Pete had been sprawled on the bed, almost pouting when Patrick made to leave. Then he jumped up as Patrick patted his pockets down, running through the usual checklist. 

“Can I kiss you?” Pete asked, but he was already pulling Patrick toward him by the wrists, and pressing their lips together. Patrick didn't respond, and just stared at Pete as they pulled away.

“I would have said no if you'd given me the chance,” Patrick said, but Pete just shrugged, touching Patrick's face like he'd been given the go-ahead.

“That's why I got in before,” Pete said, and he leaned in again. Patrick softened this time and went with it, aware of Pete's warm hands circling his own wrists, the fact that he didn't try to dirty it up with tongue and hands all over Patrick. It was like he was summing up Patrick's reaction, and so Patrick kissed back, just as soft, trying hard not to put his hands on any part of Pete. He pulled away eventually, and pressed a hand to his tingling mouth.

“Enough. I have to leave,” Patrick said, stepping back. “I’ll be in touch.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick gives in to Pete, but only his terms.

Ryan was pissed with him when Patrick showed up to pick Penny up. He never looked particularly happy to see Patrick, but his eyes were boring right into Patrick's face as he leaned his long body against the door frame.

“I have a life, Patrick,” Ryan was saying. “You can't be late.”

“It's only twenty minutes,” Patrick said. It wasn't like Ryan was dressed up either. He didn't look to be rushing anywhere any time soon. Patrick picked his dog carrier up from Ryan's feet and stared at Penny yapping at him from her container. “I'd say it won't happen again, but it probably will.”

“You’re an asshole,” Ryan said, as if Patrick knew himself to be anything else. Patrick tipped him well, like always. As he was walking away, Ryan suddenly called to him. “Do you hear from Brendon at all?”

“Not really?” Patrick stopped just short of his car and frowned. “I don't really work with theater stars and that's what he wanted to go into. Made sense for him to find someone in New York. Why?”

“Nothing.” Ryan shrugged. “He never texts back anymore.”

“Oh okay.” Patrick paused awkwardly, hoping he wasn't going to become privy to whatever friendship or relationship Brendon and Ryan had had. They'd met through Patrick, actually. He'd been trying to help Ryan get back on his feet after a bumpy time with a production studio and Brendon had been a rising star on his books at the time. Patrick knew they'd hooked up because Joe told him, but anything else went above his head. He just didn't care. “He's probably just busy.”

“Right.” Ryan’s eyes slipped away again and then, without saying goodbye, he closed the door on Patrick. 

 

Andy wasn’t a hard person to find, even if he didn’t always respond to Patrick’s three phone calls prior to every meeting. He wasn’t at home, but that was fine. It just meant a trip to the industrial building that Andy insisted on calling his gym. He walked past equipment, past sweating burly men and stood in front of Andy, watching him complete a rep of burpees before he acknowledged Patrick standing there. 

“Are you here about Batman?” He asked calmly, between deep breaths. Patrick handed him a towel and followed him to a backroom. It was full of barbells, weights and other intimidating equipment. On the rare occasion that Patrick decided on a trip to the gym, you were way more likely to find him taking a leisurely turn on the cross trainer than in a torture chamber like this place. Patrick sighed as he focused back on Andy and waited to find out how he knew about the movie. “Pete text me last night.”

“He texted you? When did the exchange in phone numbers happen?” Patrick asked. He looked down at Andy, who was checking his pulse.

“At your tedious dinner party. It’s what you wanted, right? For us to get to know each other.” Andy stared up at Patrick, carefully watching him.

“It isn’t me you have to impress.” Patrick stood with his hands on his hips and stared down. “It’s pretty awesome. You're down for it, right?”

“It is pretty awesome,” Andy laughed. Patrick smiled back, nodding his head. “Are we having a meeting?”

“Yep, I'm arranging it for later this week. You’re a dead cert, but they’re interested in Pete. If you vouch for him, work well in testing, then I think you’ll both get it.” Patrick stopped talking when he remembered Andy’s nugget of gossip he’d overheard. “I don’t do favors or anything. Not for anything in return, you know that.”

“I know.” Andy nodded, standing up and clapping Patrick on the shoulder. “I’m not gonna judge you for relationships that are not my concern. You should be careful though.”

“I’m always careful,” Patrick said. That went without saying. Patrick never did anything that would jeopardize his career, or that of his clients. “But I appreciate your concern. I’ll give you a heads up when there’s a meeting set up.”

Patrick secured a meeting later that week, and emailed both his guys to arrange a time to meet the casting crew. If Pete could control his nerves, Patrick was certain he'd be in with a serious chance. 

 

“You gotta come over for dinner tonight.” Patrick looked up from signing papers to see Joe standing the other side of his desk. “Marie said so.”

“Maybe I'm busy,” Patrick said, looking down at his signature and hoping it looked like it should. He never was good at that. 

“What, drinking wine alone with your dog?” Joe smirked. “She’s cooking your favorite. And we’re due a serious catch up.” Patrick dropped his pen, and didn't respond to the first part. It would be good to get out of the house properly. And Marie and Joe were, without a doubt, his closest friends.

“Fine. But only if she teaches me how to do the crispy noodles,” Patrick agreed, and held out his hand, just so they could shake on it.

Patrick took Penny with him over to Joe's house. He didn't like leaving her alone in the house, and he was always at work and she was always at Ryan’s otherwise. He bought wine, something white and expensive, just because that's what you were supposed to do. 

“Patrick!” Marie hugged him close as she opened the door on him. Penny skipped past their feet, knowing exactly where she was. “You’re looking too thin. I bet you haven't eaten a decent meal in forever.”

“I ate pizza last night,” Patrick said, even if it had been a few days since his evening with Pete. “And salad.”

“Not good enough,” she informed him. “Come in.”

Patrick was an okay cook if the mood struck. He could cook meat okay, and went through a pasta bake phase when he first moved to LA. He just never had the time, and when he was home after an exhausting day dealing with fragile egos, sometimes take-out or microwave meals were all he could manage. Marie did make the best chilli chicken stir-fry with crunchy noodles and Patrick had been bugging her to show him the recipe the last three times she'd made it. 

Mostly he watched and drank wine as she cooked over the stove. They had such a nice house, way nicer than Patrick’s. Mostly because it looked lived in. They'd been together since forever, she was a lawyer. It was basically the perfect relationship. Patrick was only jealous some of the time. 

“Still single?” she asked him as they ate. Patrick watched her, waiting to see if she was saying this because Joe had been gossiping or she was just curious. He took her word as an innocent gesture and just shrugged. 

“I don't thrive in relationships. I think we’re all aware of that,” Patrick answered, biting down on the food. Penny was pawing at his leg, wanting scraps and Joe was staring at him from the other side. Patrick just stared at his food.

“One shitty relationship doesn't mean you're not good at any,” Joe reasoned, slowly. “Plus Pete Wentz has a crush on you.”

“Pete Wentz?” Marie burst out. “He was so cute as Lex Dryden. I loved the death scene, broke my heart as a teen.” 

“I know I just watched it recently,” Patrick burst in, recalling the teen drama Pete had taken the lead in, and been murdered in on graduation day. “I took a whim and signed him a while back. It's working out.”

“Patrick got him third billing in a HBO drama,” Joe said. Clearly he hadn't spoken to Marie about anything relating to Pete Wentz. “There's a shit load of buzz for the show online. I've been looking at it, people are really stoked to see it.”

“I didn't make the show, I just put his name forward,” Patrick shrugged, taking another mouthful of food. Penny continued to paw at him until she gave up, turning around and huffing by his foot instead. 

“Do you ever hear from him?” Joe asked quietly that night. They were cleaning up the kitchen as Marie took a break. Patrick immediately knew who Joe was talking about and shrugged his shoulder.

“Why would I? We broke up,” Patrick answered. “Over two years ago.” 

“I guess I just wondered. It wasn't your fault, what happened. You know that, dude?”

“Some of it was,” Patrick shrugged, not wanting to talk about it. “I don't love him anymore. Obviously.”

“I'd fucking hope so,” Joe laughed, tucking cutlery away in the drawer as Patrick wiped the same bowl over and over with a cloth. “You deserve to be happy though. After that douche you can take your pick.”

“It's better that it’s just me and Penny. I don't want to answer to anyone else,” Patrick said. He placed the bowl back into the cupboard and stepped away. “I don't want to talk about it anymore, okay?”

“You're cool, Patrick.” Joe shrugged. He went back to humming an off-key tune beneath his breath and Patrick continued drying up the dinner service. He was almost glad when it was time for him to call a cab and go home. 

 

Pete got the role in the Batman movie. As both the two main stars were his own clients and he secured a 15% payment from any job of theirs, he was getting a good profit from the job. He hadn't even thought of that until Andy had told him.

“I don't care about that,” Patrick said truthfully. “I’m just stoked that you both got the role.”

“So many NDA forms to fill in,” Andy responded, but there was glee in his voice and he couldn't hide it. “Can't wait to get a solid look at the script to see what I'm working with.”

“For sure.” Patrick nodded.

Pete had been a little more dumbfounded than Andy, like he was ready to pinch himself to wake up, like it was a crazy dream. He'd channeled his nerves during testing to pull off some decent acting skills. Patrick just sat and patted his arm, he was almost shaking. 

“You got me fucking Batman,” Pete kept saying over and over. “I'm so glad I forced my way into your office that time.”

“Uh-huh. Ryland’s throwing a party later to celebrate. You should go,” Patrick told him. 

“Are you going?” Pete asked suddenly. Patrick looked at him and shrugged. 

“I'm only the agent, why would I go?” Technically Patrick had been invited, mostly because he'd secretly been involved in the casting in the first place, but still. 

“Because I want you to.” Pete touched Patrick's face, eyes staring right at Patrick. It made Patrick uncomfortable being looked at like that, even if they were alone in the room. “I want to see you tonight.” His hand brushed past Patrick's mouth before dropping, his intent clear.

“I could probably make it, I guess.”

 

Patrick had straight up anxiety about the party. He sat with his head between his knees on his bathroom floor, waiting for his heart rate to slow. Penny licked at his hand, causing him to look up. He cuddled his dog close and thought things over.

“I like Pete,” he said aloud to himself and Penny, just so it was out in the open. “But I won't ever be with a guy on their terms again.” Penny yapped once, like she agreed with him. He stroked her soft fluffy skull and thought things over. “My terms or nothing.”

Patrick distracted his nerves by writing an email to Pete, explaining and agreeing to whatever he wanted, providing he agreed with what Patrick set out. 

_No one knows. This is not a boyfriend relationship. You can sort out your sexuality image with pr._  
_You don't talk to me about roles when we are together like that. We have separate meetings and schedules to discuss work. Likewise, don't put any dumb moves on me in the office, during meetings or anything like that._  
_I don't do threesome. I don't take drugs, in bed or otherwise. Don't want you to either. You can sleep with other people, I don't care. Just don't want to know._  
_We meet up in scheduled places. Don't show up unannounced._  
_No photos._  
_Don't ask about exes. I don't care for yours, don't want you to think about mine._

Patrick deleted the last one. It would be easier to just not discuss it in general rather than put it out there for Pete to sink his teeth into. He sent it before he could change his mind. He didn't get a response, but it didn't matter. Patrick cleaned up, styled his hair, and made himself look the part. 

Patrick got hit on almost immediately at the party. Patrick was a big deal, especially after securing the lead roles for two clients in Batman. People wanted to fuck him, to try and poach him onto their agency instead. Patrick just swallowed his drink casually and waited for the dude to stop staring at him like he was a particularly delicious pastry. Patrick was not easy, and this route to success was a particular drag.

“I’ll have to show you around the set sometime, show you how the other side work. Much more interesting then meeting after meeting.” The man leered and then had the audacity to touch Patrick's side. Maybe he wasn't from an agency then, just some desperate overworked production worker. Patrick didn't think he'd be hit on for genuine reasons in a long while now. Pete did not count.

Still, Patrick wasn't swayed.

“I'm pretty happy where I am,” Patrick said calmly. He took another sip of his drink, waiting for the hand to leave his side. 

“I'd be happier to see you somewhere else.” Patrick's eyes bulged at that. Subtlety was not in this guy's consciousness. Now it just felt sad. And also creepy.

“Hey Patrick, I've been looking for you everywhere.” Patrick hated how relieved he was to see Pete standing there. The man’s hand finally dropped from Patrick's waist and he stepped away. Patrick excused himself and followed Pete away from the guy, sipping his beer. Pete looked good, of course, with his dark hair pushed back and black clothes. 

“Do you get hit on a lot? I saw some dude hitting on you at the last party,” Pete said, as they walked past the bar into a quieter spot. 

“It's not genuine,” Patrick shrugged. “They're just poachers. Ready to steal whatever they fucking can for whatever price.”

“Huh. Well I bet some of them want to sleep with you.”

“Probably.” Patrick shrugged, keeping his face neutral even if his heart was beating fast. He followed Pete again, as he found an empty room. He locked the door behind him,and Patrick watched passively, until Pete came over to him. 

“I got your email,” Pete said. He snatched Patrick's beer from his hand and place it on the ground. Patrick raised an eyebrow as he got closer, hands on Patrick's shoulders, pushing him against the wall. “You should know that I'm kinda a rule breaker.”

“Not my rules,” Patrick answered. Pete kissed him and it sent a shock through him. Patrick wanted to wake himself up and stop being so pathetic about it all. He put his hands on Pete’s chest and pushed him away at the last moment, just as Pete’s tongue had sneaked into his mouth.

“I’ll treat you right, don't worry.” Pete was smirking as he pulled Patrick toward him by the belt. One more night to be passive, Patrick told himself. Then he could control it in the way he needed. Pete was sliding Patrick's belt open and popping his button free. Patrick leaned back against the wall, even as Pete fell down to his knees.

He felt kisses against his lower stomach. He hadn't done anything remotely sexual with anyone in so long now. Not really. Pete was using teeth, grazing them against Patrick's belly until he grabbed Patrick's underwear and pulled them down. Patrick hissed, but placed a hand on the side of Pete’s face, forcing himself to watch.

“Knew you weren't a natural blond,” Pete smirked, stroking Patrick a few times. “Always thought gingers were cute.”

“It’s strawberry blond,” Patrick said, but it didn't matter because Pete was opening his mouth around him, pulling him in. One of Pete's hands held Patrick at the base, the other one was curled around the inside of Patrick's thigh. 

You couldn't go wrong in a blow job, not really . Anything wet and suctiony kinda felt good, and so Patrick shut his eyes, held onto the back of Pete's head and just went with it. Pete didn't do it much, Patrick could tell though, in how he never took too much in and he was kinda dribbly, but Patrick liked the slight graze in his teeth, and really it had been so long since someone else had touched him like this. 

Getting sucked off by one of his clients was starting to feel less and less like a bad idea the more into it Patrick got. He was biting his own lips to stop himself moaning out loud and he never moved his hands from Pete's head. He didn't force him down, just kept them there as Pete bobbed his head, swirling over the head before sliding it into his mouth again. 

Patrick had felt Pete's hand uncurl from the inside of his thigh, but he hadn't thought much about it. Then he felt his dick graze the stubbly side of Pete's jaw and the feel of determined fingers pushing back, between his legs. They were spit slick and pressing close. Patrick was clenching tight, but then Pete mouthed at his dick again and the feel of the fingers, pressing against his ass, was just too good an opportunity. Pete laughed as his fingers pressed inside. 

He seemed better at this part, at the fingering. He wasn't really sucking anymore, just swirling his tongue around the head of Patrick’s dick, but his fingers were strong, hard, jerking inside Patrick. 

Patrick had his eyes shut, so he didn't have to watch Pete watch him fall apart. He loved coming around something in his ass, hated it for the way it made people think he was, but he couldn't help it. He slapped at the back of Pete's head to warn him, but then he was coming, squeezing tight around Pete's fingers as he swallowed.

Patrick just leaned back against the wall as he caught his breath and came down from it all. He'd had an unsatisfactory hook up three months back with someone Vicky knew, but other than that, it had been so long since someone had made him come. His hands still shook as he tucked himself away, and pulled his jeans back up. 

Pete was up from his knees, washing the taste away with the remainder of Patrick's beer. He rested his hand flat on Patrick’s stomach, leering over him again. It was like he was waiting on something from Patrick, waiting for some reciprocation. 

“You gonna return the favor?” Pete asked eventually, rubbing his thumb against the base of Patrick's throat, staring at his lips. Patrick waited three seconds before shaking his head.

“I don't perform sex acts at work functions. Sorry to disappoint,” Patrick said, patting Pete's crotch and pushing away from the wall. He left the room with Pete's laugh in his ears, and spent ten more minutes at the party before finding a cab outside.

 

Patrick woke up the next morning to a photo message from Pete. It was a dick pic, which had Patrick rolling his eyes and clicking his phone shut. When he recovered from the idiocy of it he opened it again and took a good look. It was pretty good, better width than length but Patrick preferred that anyway. It made him start thinking about fucking it, sucking it. Unlike Pete, Patrick was actually good at cock sucking. 

Patrick called Pete up the moment he was out of the shower, mostly just to berate him. “You can't send nudes, you idiot. If they get leaked, your brand new image will get blown again.”

“Why would you leak them?” Pete asked. He sounded husky, like he'd only just woken up himself. Patrick pressed speakerphone, so he could get dressed and yell at Pete at the same time.

“I wouldn't leak them, but if you get hacked they could get out.”

“Why would anyone hack me?” Pete asked, missing the point completely. “Did you like it though? I bet you did.” 

“It was fine,” Patrick said cautiously, not wanting to give anything away. He buttoned his shirt, and tucked it into his pants, only half looking at himself in the mirror. 

“I knew you'd be into assplay!” Pete was perky again now, like he'd awoken properly in the thirty seconds they’d been talking. “You took the fingers easy with, like, tiny amount of spit, which makes me think you're used to it, but you were super tight so it's been a while. We can change that though. I can ease things up for you.”

“Shut up.” Patrick rolled his eyes, glad that Pete couldn't see how the heat had got to Patrick's cheeks. “You don't suck dick much, I could tell.”

“It's been a while,” Pete admitted slowly. “You came though. You came hard.”

“Goodbye Pete.”

 

Patrick felt out of his skin all day in the office. He'd been the one that had technically got off and yet he still felt like he needed the edge taken off. It was like Pete had awakened something inside him and the blow job hadn't quite done the job. Patrick didn't like it, it made it harder to do his job. 

Gabe hadn't shown up for an audition and Patrick was having to field sulky emails from casting to excuse the bullshit. He still wasn't answering Patrick's calls or emails. The fact he was still sulking when the rest of the world had moved on from Bond was pathetic at this point and Patrick was around three seconds away from leaving the office, hopping on a star tour bus to Gabe’s house and screaming at him in person when he got a call from Gerard.

“Is it true there's a Batman movie? Have you put my name forward?” He asked. Patrick closed his eyes and sighed inwardly so Gerard couldn't tell. 

“It's already been cast,” Patrick said cautiously. “For the main roles at least. I never thought about putting you forward because you said you wanted to focus on comics.”

“You're an asshole, Patrick Stump,” Gerard sighed. “I'd take a bit part, if there's any going.”

“No client of mine gets bit-parts.” Patrick insisted, ignoring Frank’s face that popped into his head. 

“What if we call it a cameo?” 

“I’ll see,” Patrick said. That would be okay, probably. He didn't want Gerard taking any villain roles for a while, it was too campy right after an Oscar win. “I'll be in touch.”

Patrick spent the rest of the day much as before, shouting at people when he had to, being cute and accommodating if the mood suited, but when his three o’clock appointment was a no show, his afternoon was freed up.

“Just go home and see your dog,” Joe told him when he informed Patrick of the no-show. “You’re not needed here now.”

Patrick figured he'd waited long enough when he texted Pete, asking if he was at home. Pete responded with a devil shaped emoji. Patrick presumed that meant yes and got his driver to take him over to Pete's instead. 

Patrick was nervous, but he tried to channel it into something else as he waited for Pete to answer. He hoped none of his five kids were around, because that would ruin the plan somewhat. Luckily, when he did answer, he was alone and smirking. 

“Hey hot lips,” Pete said, pulling Patrick inside. “Knew the dick pic would get you here.”

“Shut up about that,” Patrick said. “You need to start talking less.”

“Do I?” Pete smirked again, teeth flashing. He was enjoying it too much, like he thought he had all the control. 

“Stop that.” Patrick pushed Pete away when he got too close. “Remember we’re doing this on my terms.” Pete's eyes flashed with curiosity and he nodded his head. 

“Alright then.” Pete held his hands up and stepped back of his own accord. “Where shall we do this?”

“Bedroom,” Patrick answered, following Pete up the stairs. Of course it was a fancy bedroom, airy and light, with a gigantic bed that was probably the size of Patrick’s tripled.

“My youngest kids always end up in here when they’re over, so I got a big enough bed for everyone,” Pete shrugged, when he caught the way Patrick's eyebrows had raised. “Plus, you can get away with any sex position.”

“Okay.” Patrick paused. “You got a condom?” 

“Uh yeah.” Pete went over to his nightstand and pulled out a strip. Then he went to the en-suite and Patrick heard him rummaging until he came back with a tube of lube. “This good?”

“Sure.” Patrick took his suit jacket off and placed it on the edge of the bed. “Sit on the edge of the bed.”

Pete did as he was told without comment, though his eyes lit with glee as Patrick got onto his knees in front of him. He was only wearing loose shorts and he sat up briefly to pull them down. Dick was nicer in person than on camera, and Pete's wasn't any different. Patrick grabbed the condom from the side and ripped one open with his teeth. Pete was hoping for a blowjob but Patrick wasn't feeling it today and just stroked Pete with his hand, looking up at him with flickering eyelashes. Patrick made little fuss of the condom, gently rolling it down Pete's dick. He rested his lips briefly against the covered head of Pete's cock, before lifting up and away.

“Close your eyes,” Patrick said, as he lifted onto his feet. He watched Pete stare at him, holding the base of his dick in his hand. “Close them.”

“But I want to watch,” Pete said, as Patrick started to undo his own pants. He eyed the lube on the side but didn't move for it until Pete finally did as he was told. Patrick continued watching Pete as he removed his pants and underwear. He left his shirt on and then went for the lube.

He didn't spend long fingering himself. Pete was right, Patrick hadn't had sex in a long while now, but he was pretty specialized in getting fucked. He liked the feeling of it being a little too tight, didn't like the ease that came with too much slick prep. 

Nerves turned to flickering anticipation as Patrick moved closer to Pete. His eyelashes flickered as Patrick straddled him. Patrick moved Pete's hand from his dick and guided it to his ass instead. Patrick just held Pete there, just with the very tip inside himself. 

“Oh fuck.” Pete was squeezing his eyes shut now, like it was almost painful for him. Patrick was just letting it build inside him, the excitement, the fact that he was so fucking tight over the head of Pete's dick and nothing else. 

“You can open your eyes now,” Patrick said. He felt too hot in his white button down, but he didn't want to take it off, didn't want to be that vulnerable just yet. He waited for Pete to open his eyes. When he did Patrick made sure to slide down another inch. He could take more; could take it all right now, but he didn't want to. 

“You feel fucking awesome,” Pete said. Patrick didn't stop Pete's hands sinking to his hips, over his shirt. Patrick nodded, hands on Pete's face. It felt good, so much better than fingers, toys or even the pathetic hook up from all those months back. Maybe it was because Patrick had the control this time, could take as much or as little as he wanted. 

“This is good,” Patrick admitted, but then he was kissing Pete, and feeling him inside, sliding down until he wasn't having to hold himself up. He was pushing his tongue into Pete's mouth, feeling Pete's hands on his hips tighten, helping Patrick rock back and forward.

Maybe it became too intimate for what supposed to be a quick fuck. It wasn't hard, but it was intense and even though Patrick was wearing his shirt still, it made him feel vulnerable. He stopped kissing Pete, as he felt a hand sneak underneath the hem of his shirt. Pete worked him over good, and Patrick was squeezing tight around him, hands tight on Pete's jaw. 

“That good, huh?” Patrick said, when he could find the words. He arched his back, one hand on Pete's shoulder, the other taking over the hand on his dick, stroking himself. Pete was squeezing at Patrick's hips, one beneath the shirt, the other on top. He rocked back and forth, making a show of it until he started to come. He clenched hard, as hard as he could as he orgasmed, trying to get Pete to join him. 

Pete didn't come right away, but Patrick just rocked his hips down, letting Pete thrust up into him. He kissed him, stroked his face and moaned into his mouth. He was oversensitive and a little sore, but the more effort he put on, the quicker Pete would come. Pete did come eventually, biting down on Patrick's lip, fingers digging deep into Patrick's hips. Patrick couldn't feel it as he would bareback, but it was still hot. 

Patrick had never really been a fan of the moment after sex where the comedown hits and they have to separate. He couldn’t bury his feelings beneath lust when the energy has faded. He pulled himself off and away from Pete. His shirt was sticking to his skin and he felt gross between the legs, even with the use of the condom.

Patrick saw Pete pull the condom off and wrap it in a tissue before disappearing into the bathroom. He felt exhausted and sluggish, but he couldn't stay. That wouldn't work for him. He moved to put his pants back on when Pete walked back in, shorts pulled up.

“Why are you putting your clothes back on?” He asked, high pitched like he was exasperated. “Patrick, don't tell me you’re leaving.”

“I don't see why I should stay,” Patrick said, but there wasn't any firmness behind his voice. He’d never actually been good at casual relationships. He didn't have the coolness that went with it.

“I’m like 98% sure I have ice cream in the freezer. You don't wanna stay and share a pint?” That was tempting. He stared up at Pete and then down at his feet. “It’s coconut milk based so that makes it totally healthy, right?”

“I guess I could stay a little while,” Patrick said, making his decision. It didn't sit right with him, but he didn’t want to go either.

He used Pete’s shower and cleaned himself up. His hips were lightly bruised and he wasn't sure what to feel about that, having someone’s mark on him. He got stuck wearing Pete’s clothes after too, because he wasn't going to sit around in tailored pants and a sweaty shirt. There was nothing too embarrassing about it though; no patches or holes. The clothes were fine, for the time being.

“Seeing you in my clothes is the hottest thing ever,” Pete said, as they ate ice cream in his living room. Patrick sucked the treat from his spoon and stared at Pete without saying anything. Pete just shrugged. “Whatever. I can say what I want.”

“Sure. You prefer me in your clothes or out of them all together?” Patrick asked, digging his spoon in further. He could flirt, if the occasion arose. 

“Well, you haven't got completely naked for me yet,” Pete smirked. Patrick rolled his eyes, unimpressed. 

“Not yet, no.” Patrick finished his ice cream, and then looked at the large clock on the wall. “I should go.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” Pete said and Patrick lost what he was going to say. Pete wasn't supposed to argue so plainly.

“I genuinely can't stay much longer,” Patrick said, a little more pleasantly. “My dog sitter has been pissy all week at me for being late. I can't do it again.”

“Oh well, that's different. Kinda thought you were just being a bitch,” Pete said. Patrick was, but he just shrugged instead. “Are you free at all later in the week? I'm free for most of it. I'm mostly just waiting on the big interview to be published and I've got a meeting with my publicist again, but other than that...”

“Thursday is my day off,” Patrick said slowly. He wished he hadn't, because his days off were his one time he had alone, to be by himself. Pete though, was already lighting up, dark eyes widening.

“Oh so you could stay over Wednesday night and we could make a whole day-date of it,” he suggested, but Patrick shook his head.

“We can hang out at some point on the Thursday, but I don't do sleepovers.” Patrick was certain that had been one of his rules in the email, he couldn't remember now.

“I'm gonna win you over eventually,” Pete said, shutting his eyes as he slouched on his couch. He looked completely calm, and a little smug with it. “Mark my words.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick gives up his free time to help a client through a crisis and lets slip something private to Pete.

Patrick visited Vicky on the set of her new movie. It was halfway between the office and Gabe’s house, where he was ready to finish Saporta’s self-imposed exile with a real discussion on what his issues were. 

Vicky was watching the most recent cut of a scene with a cup of coffee in her hand and a bored expression on her face. She was alone although her assistant, Nate, was hovering by the doorway. He looked at Patrick and then away, turning red when their eyes caught. There had been a night once, like a year ago. There'd been some kissing and Patrick had sucked his dick, but Nate wouldn't look at Patrick at all since. He should just get over it.

“Oh it's you,” Vicky said, looking up at Patrick when he headed into the room. She paused the scene and sighed. “I hate everything about this.”

“Let me see.” She played the scene back to him and he watched. It seemed fine to him, but he wasn't particularly invested or intelligent when it came to directing scenes. He just liked to seem knowledgeable. “Another take won't hurt.”

“Days like this make me really question my occupation,” she said, but Patrick was already slipping his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out a miniature of bourbon. He took a small mouthful of it before pouring the rest into her coffee. She smirked and then took a large sip. “That does calm things a little.”

“Right.” Patrick licked his lips and adjusted his glasses as she paused the video again. “I came for some advice.”

“From me?” she laughed, but he just shrugged. “What's up?”

“I had sex with Pete Wentz,” Patrick said. “I don't know why.”

“Because you wanted to,” she shrugged, eyes scanning his face, like she was waiting on more information. “What's wrong with that?”

“It’s unethical. He employs me to get him work and I can’t… I don't want it to be a favor thing.”

“You want him to like you for you.”

“No.” Patrick said, a little too indignant. “It’s not that at all. But I’m not that kind of agent. Casting couches are disgusting, everyone that knows me knows that I feel a certain way about that shit.”

“Sure. So, what’s the issue?”

Patrick shrugged, not feeling satisfied with the conversation at all. “I was just happy doing my own thing, I guess, and then I met him and he pisses me off, but I think I like that and it just… I don’t have relationships. I don’t do that.”

“Well, fuck. Patrick, I’m not a fucking shrink,” she said coolly. “Don’t play games with each other, then. Ours is the only industry where no one cares about ethics, so just… well, fuck. I dunno.”

“Me either.” Patrick looked at her and they both started laughing. “I wrote him some rules that he’s probably gonna break, but I’m just… no one else knows. No one.”

“No one listens to my gossip,” she shrugged, but then winked at him. “Thanks for the boozy pick me up and for the stellar insight into your personal life, but I have some other stuff to do.”

“Like fix that shit?” Patrick pointed at the screen in front of them, but then hugged her goodbye and saw himself off set.

 

Patrick rarely drove anywhere because he didn’t have the patience to cope with LA traffic, but he’d dug his car keys out at the beginning of the day. Gabe tested his blood pressure more than any other client and if he was going to storm out in frustration, he’d rather be gone than deal with waiting for his ride. Plus, Gabe had the craziest security of all his clients and the gated community had his car registration verified.

Patrick got through security and then typed in the pin to his driveway before he was finally there. Something didn’t feel right. Gabe had the stereotypical entourage that generally cluttered his house, but there was no car but his around. He typed in the code to his house and opened the door, calling out Gabe’s name.

The house was dark, empty. It felt eerie because it was party central most of the time. As he turned the corner into the living room, Patrick found Gabe sprawled on his couch. There was a pile of vomit beside him and bottles strewed across the floor surrounding the couch. Patrick avoided the puke, but placed a hand to Gabe’s clammy neck. Up close he was both breathing and had a pulse.

“Gabe, you idiot,” Patrick said, but with little heat. There was vomit on Gabe’s sweater and his hair was lank. He had a general sour pissy smell emanating from him, which suggested other entirely gross things. Patrick stepped back and tried to evaluate the situation. There wasn’t much he could do apart from stay and clean the bastard up.

He threw his jacket off, rolled up his sleeves and cleaned the vomit from the floor before dealing with Gabe. Patrick wasn’t a lightweight, but he was a very small dude and Gabe was tall. There was a solid foot between them and no way could Patrick haul his body to the bathroom with him still unconscious. He worked around it, pulling off his spoiled and stinking clothes, wiping a warm damp cloth over him gently. Gabe started to come around, with bleary eyes, laid out in dirty boxers and nothing else. He stared at Patrick a good while, as Patrick stroked a hand through his hair.

“S’you, Patrick?”

“It’s me,” Patrick said softly. “I’m fixing you up. Just rest.” Patrick stroked his hair, waiting until Gabe’s eyes closed again before he pulled away. He called Joe and told him to push back any meetings Patrick had, and to have Penny for the night if he could. Joe started to complain, until Patrick cut in to explain the state he found Gabe in.

“He’s been on a bender and crashed. I think that’s all. I think it’s just drink,” Patrick said. Gabe partied a lot, and that involved whatever substances he wanted, but he was generally a healthy guy, hadn’t succumbed heavily to any lifestyle. By the time, Patrick had finished with Joe and wandered back into view of the couch, Gabe’s eyes were open again. Patrick crouched down by the side of his couch and considered his green-pallored face.

“You need to have a proper shower,” Patrick said softly. “I can help walk you to the bathroom.”

“Okay,” Gabe said, and then frowned as he tried to sit up. He was wobbly, unsteady, still drunk. Patrick didn’t so much have to take Gabe’s weight, rather than just keep him balanced as they walked to the closest shower. Patrick left Gabe to it, but left out some clothes he found still in the bag of clean laundry on the side.

Gabe wanted to go back to sleep after his shower, which was fine by Patrick, and he was with it enough to steady himself up to his bedroom. Patrick left him to it, answering a few emails on his phone between cleaning the leather couch down and spraying a room spritzer around that he found on the coffee table. It freshened it up a little.

What Gabe would need was serious sleep and a few decent meals inside him before he started to feel better again. Patrick couldn’t help with the sleep, but he could bulk cook with ease. Gabe was a vegetarian, which was also fine with Patrick. His bender couldn't have started that long ago, because his refrigerator was filled to the brim with fresh ingredients, bought maybe a day or so earlier by his housekeeper.

Patrick made a stew, a veggie bolognese, a lentil moussaka and a pasta bake with the ingredients he found. Cooking used to be a way for him to unwind, before his career had taken over his life. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed it. He made a bowl of fresh mango salsa and ate spoonfuls of it between dishing the food into various containers and labeling them in the refrigerator. He’d been at it hours by the time he’d loaded the dishwasher, but it had killed time and it had made him feel purposeful.

Gabe was asleep by that point and Patrick was exhausted too. It was late, but he didn't want to leave him alone for the time being. He pulled his own clothes off and found a t-shirt of Gabe’s to wear in bed. It fit like a dress, but he didn't care. He slept on top of the covers, back to Gabe’s sleeping body.

He woke up early, too early to be happy, but this wasn't his bed and he wasn't comfortable in it. He washed up and then texted Gabe’s brother, who was also his manager. Asked him to come over later, to look after his brother. He went back into the bedroom, to find his clothes, and saw that Gabe was finally awake. 

“I always wondered what the morning after would be like with you. It's banging,” Gabe said, back to his normal self in tongue, even if he still looked terrible. 

“Of course. I'm getting washed up and then I'm making you breakfast. Meet me downstairs in half an hour.” 

Patrick made a frittata for Gabe as well as a smoothie. He handed them over and watched as Gabe attempted to eat it. He was mobile, eating, and looked decent enough. Or like he wasn't going to keel over. Patrick had helped him through this part.

“Was yesterday a one off or should I be concerned?” Patrick asked with crossed arms, staring at his client. 

Gabe shrugged a shoulder. “You know I've been bummed out.”

“Are you depressed?” Patrick knew depression and he didn't think this was a straight up case of it. But still, he needed to know.

“Not like that.” Gabe shrugged, taking a sip of the smoothie. “I’ve been partying a lot, trying to block out the bad press. I hit a low mood a few days ago, kicked everyone out. Even told my housekeeper to leave for the week. I just wanted to drink myself stupid.”

“You did that,” Patrick said, but he wasn't nasty with it. He looked down at Gabe sitting down, trying to eat the food and just felt bad for him. “I'm going to give you another two weeks off, no work. But I want you rest up. No partying, no doing anything stupid. I might even make more calls than normal.”

“I know you’re right.” Gabe smiled up at Patrick with greasy, dark circles beneath his eyes.

“I am always right,” Patrick insisted. “There’s a casting director chasing you for a role, I can hold him off for a couple of weeks, but I want you to take the job. You need to move past Bond.”

“I read the reviews. Mostly it's the film they all hated,” Gabe shrugged. “But I've never had criticism like it before.”

“No, I know,” Patrick said. “The contract was only for one film so we’re not going there again. We’ve both learned our lesson, right?”

“Right.” Gabe forked another spoonful into his mouth, staring up at Patrick with his worn out face. “You know I don't just call you mom for the nagging. You take care of me like no one else, just like a mama should.”

“You say it how it is,” Patrick laughed. “I called your brother and he's going to stay with you. I made you, like, four different meals last night. They’re stacked in the refrigerator and I want you to eat them all because they’re actual food and I think you need to eat something decent for once.”

“Yes mama,” Gabe said, and he was smirking like his old self again. 

 

Patrick was exhausted by the time he made it home. It had been twenty-four hours since he'd last been in his house but it felt like forever. Tomorrow was his day off and he was thinking about that as he had a quick shower and changed his clothes before heading into the office. 

He grabbed a bagel on his way into the office. He hadn’t eaten anything at Gabe’s house that morning, too busy taking care of his client, but now he was trying to fill the hole in his stomach and get his brain into gear.

Penny was waiting for him in Joe's lap as he walked out of the elevator and he was pleased to see both of their awaiting faces. It felt like he'd been in Gabe’s house forever. He picked his dog up and let her lick at his face as he explained quietly to Joe what he had found.

“Well shit,” Joe said, looking surprised. “But he's okay?”

“Yeah. I'm hoping it wasn't the start of any downward slope, but he seemed in a better place when I left. He just needs to sleep and eat.” Patrick paused, trying not to worry himself silly about it. “So what have I missed here?”

Patrick hadn't missed too much, Joe had rescheduled his meetings. Frank had won another two-part guest role in a network show and William had arrived late to a second round audition. The casting team hadn't been impressed and he'd been culled. The long-limbed fucker.

So he got to yell at William for a bit, which helped, and then spoke to Travie on the phone. He'd been away shooting in Mexico for the last two months and Patrick had been so caught up in his actors in LA that he'd not had a chance to see how things were going. They were good, as they usually were for Travie. If they weren’t, well he never said otherwise.

Patrick had a text from Pete late afternoon, telling him to _come over after work._ Patrick said no, and turned his phone over so he couldn't see the response. He got home a little after six, changed into some comfortable clothes and sat in his lonely house contemplating things.

“Should we piss myself off some more?” Patrick asked his dog, hating the fact that he was doing it, allowing himself to pull on some different clothes. A little smarter than the joggers and sweatshirt. He looked at himself in the mirror, but he'd never been too sure he liked what he saw. He looked away and down at his dog. He didn't want to be going to Pete’s with so much ease. 

Patrick drove over to Pete's half hoping he wouldn't be in, that he'd have realized Patrick was telling the truth and didn't want to come over. When he opened the door he just smiled at Patrick, stupid and handsome. 

“Oh cool, you bought your dog!” Pete said, thankfully not bringing up the fact Patrick had showed up in spite of the text he'd written earlier in the day. “What's her name again?”

“Penny,” Patrick said and then walked into Pete's house with her. Pete was wearing more clothes this time, a blue t-shirt, jeans. Patrick eyed him up and then looked away. He wasn't really sure what to do, what he should say. 

“I was thinking about eating some badass dim sum and watching a movie?” Pete said, dropping down to stroke Penny when Patrick let her out of the carrier. Patrick was thankful for Pete, for making the first move.

“Sounds good.” Pete was an expert in the Japanese restaurant five minutes away, Patrick heard him on the phone, listing what he wanted to order without looking at a menu. Patrick stared at him cautiously from the doorway, Penny sniffing around at his feet.

“You look tired,” Pete said, taking Patrick's hand gently when he'd finished the call and guiding him into his living room. It was open, airy. There was more books than movies, stacked high either side of the large TV. 

“You’re a big reader?” Patrick said, aloud, turning to Pete, who just shrugged.

“It’s my thing. Do I not look it?” He smirked, but Patrick looked away, pulling his hand from Pete’s grip.

“I don't know what you look like,” he said, and then took a seat on the couch behind him. Pete sat close, arm sliding over the back of the couch, so that Patrick ended up nearly wedged beneath his arm. Patrick could suck it up and not be a little bitch. He told himself to play nice, just once. It worked enough so that he rested his hand on Pete's chest, just below his ribs. “Thanks for inviting me.”

Patrick didn't mean to start making out with Pete, but they did, somehow. Patrick wasn't quite beneath him, but he was wedged between the arm of the couch and Pete's body. He hadn't made out with anyone like this in forever, in a non-drunk prelude to sex kind of way. It was just kissing, and it felt good, with Pete's hands resting on his hips. It felt good enough that he was kinda mad when the intercom buzzed, with the food delivery.

“We timed this badly,” Pete said, leaving one kiss against Patrick's jaw before hopping up from the couch. Patrick sat up himself, feeling light and a little cooler without Pete’s body on top of his own. He looked around the room and saw Penny watching him from the armchair.

“Don’t judge me,” he told her, before brushing the folds from his t-shirt out. 

When Patrick said he liked 80’s movies best of all, Pete got all excited, and decided on a Tom Hanks marathon. Patrick had liked him, the few times he met him, so the movies weren’t ruined. They watched _Big_ and ate dim sum. Pete had ordered some Japanese beer and even though Patrick wasn't a huge beer drinker, he didn't complain about it. 

“You do look exhausted,” Pete said, when they'd finished eating. Patrick had the bottle of beer pressed to his lips, half slouching against Pete. He looked at him from the corner of his eye and shrugged his shoulder.

“One of my clients was having a tough night. I had to play at being mom and it's pretty tiring. I didn't get much sleep,” Patrick said. He wasn't going to say it was Gabe, because it wasn't his life, and he didn't want to gossip. “Plus I never eat regular meals any more. I grab snacks when I can.”

“I heard you were big into canned fruit,” Pete said with a laugh, but Patrick rolled his shoulder again. 

“People started yelling at me in concern for grabbing sugary snacks all the time, so I turned to canned fruit, but they now tell me that's unhealthy too. If my life didn't revolve around other people so much, I'd be a much healthier guy.”

“Allow me to feed you decent food then,” Pete said. Patrick didn't know how to take it so he just smiled and looked back at the screen again. 

Penny was asleep in the kitchen by the time the movie had ended, so Patrick didn't feel bad about rearranging himself so he was straddling Pete's lap. It was why he was invited. Pete smiled dozily at him, as Patrick stroked his fingers down his face. 

“I got something you might like,” Patrick said, kissing Pete once before sitting up. If he didn't think about what an idiot he was being, he was enjoying himself. He could lose himself for the night. 

“I bet you do,” Pete said. He had his hands on the small of Patrick’s back, thumbs rubbing back and forward over the bump of Patrick’s spine. 

“Wanna see?” Patrick said, lifting up and thumbing the button of his jeans. He looked at Pete's face as he dragged down his zipper, revealing enough black lace that a wide smile stretched over Pete's face.

“Oh wow. Holy fuck, is this a thing? You're a lacy panties kind of guy?” Pete said. He grabbed at Patrick's pants and yanked them down until they were cutting into his thighs. 

There were two ways it could be a thing, Patrick realized, and he wanted to make sure Pete didn't get the wrong end of it, as fingers traced over the flimsy lace. “It’s a thing in a sexy way, not a ‘I wear them all the time’ way. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Just personally.”

“You wore panties for me.” Pete cupped Patrick, holding his hand against him. Patrick shut his eyes and just felt it for a few moments. 

“I wore panties _for me_ ,” Patrick corrected. “But I figured you'd like it too.”

“I like it whatever,” Pete said, and then smashed their mouths together. It hurt, a little, but it stopped any other weird feelings occurring. Pete was kissing him, and touching his ass, in the cheeky cut panties.

They ended up in the bedroom, some time later. Patrick was wearing nothing but the black panties and Pete was naked on the bed. 

“Sex wise what are you comfortable with?” Patrick asked, kneeling against Pete. He was going to suck his dick, but not just yet. Not until he'd worked a few things out. He rested a hand on Pete's stomach and stared at him. 

“You mean dick and ass?” Pete asked and Patrick nodded, after smiling a little.“I like topping. I like the feel of ass more than the other way around. Does that make me a hypocrite?”

“Not to me. If you have to force yourself to like other things then it isn't good sex,” Patrick said. “S’okay. I'm the other way. Always have been. People tried to act like it made me weak, but I don't think it's like that.”

“Everyone is different, right?” Pete said, but Patrick could see he liked Patrick's answer, like he was grateful Patrick wasn't asking anything scary of him.

“You’re not gonna go all super masc on me though, right?” Patrick asked. “Just because I like getting fucked doesn't mean I'm gonna coo and swoon every time you swing your dick around.”

“'Super masc' is not something I'd ever describe myself as, but it’s okay that you're a power bottom. I don't mind.” Pete was smirking, his dick was getting hard as Patrick stroked it. “I haven't been with one before.”

“I'm not a power bottom,” Patrick said, or he hadn't been previously. Things were different now, though. “Things just have to be on my terms.”

“Right.” Pete was grinning. “You should just own it. Being a power bottom.”

“Stop calling me that,” Patrick said, wondering why they were even arguing about it when Pete was naked and Patrick was wearing panties. He'd just wanted to know, so he knew where to take things. 

“I think you should tell me how you discovered you liked getting fucked,” Pete was saying. He lifted his hips up as Patrick stroked his dick a little tighter, thumb pressing down against the underside.

“Once upon a time there was a guy who had a dick and he let me fuck it. The end.” Patrick ducked his head and took Pete into his mouth. The last dick he'd sucked had been a while ago now. It hadn't been the best experience, but Patrick didn't care.

Pete tried putting his hands in Patrick's hair, but Patrick batted them away and grazed his teeth to Pete’s dick. Pete flinched, but nodded. He understood just fine. Patrick just mouthed at the head for a time. He knew to build it up slow.

And okay, it was weird, but Patrick liked sucking dick because his head generally went all over the place during sex and it was the one time it was quiet. He could just suck, calm himself down, and focus on the way he was making his partner feel.

He could feel Pete getting harder in his mouth, so he started to bob a little more, holding on at the base. He scratched his nails lightly across the taut skin of Pete's lower stomach and made sure not to choke himself as he slid lower and lower. Patrick was a goddamn pro at this, or he felt like it. Better than Pete, anyway.

When he felt like Pete was getting close, he pulled away. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and stared at Pete. He found condoms and lube in the drawer and rolled one down over Pete’s dick.

“Panties on or panties off,” Patrick said, mostly to himself. He slicked Pete's cock with lube, enough of it so he wouldn't need any prep. Patrick was a big boy, he liked the tension. 

“Panties definitely on,” Pete said, looking suddenly like this was all very new to him. And that he was trying really hard not to come. Patrick would laugh in his face if he did, and probably never sleep with him again.

“Panties _off_ ,” Patrick smirked, pulling them down and tossing them aside. Pete frowned, like he was disappointed, but then he was staring at Patrick, down at Patrick. Patrick straddled him again, but couldn't quite look Pete in the eye as he sank down onto his dick. He shuddered at the feeling of being stretched, of letting it take him and spread him without having the chance to prep. It was his favorite way, but he never got it like that.

“You are the tightest motherfucker,” Pete said, but he was clenching, eyes shut. Patrick felt the stretch more as he leaned forward, hands on Pete’s chest. He rocked back and forward, Pete as deep inside as he could get him. 

Patrick felt good, riding Pete like this. He had hands on his chest, and his dick in his ass and it was making him feel fucking awesome. He hadn’t felt like this in so long and it was _his_ choice for once, it was all because of the way _he_ was doing it. He wanted to make Pete come first. Like last time, but then he changed his mind and decided he didn’t want it like that at all.

“Don’t come until I say you can,” Patrick said, waiting for Pete to nod before he touched his own dick. He moved quick, ready to come. He needed it, the relief, and it came fast the moment he let go. He rocked his hips through it, hoping he’d feel it tomorrow as well, just to remember how good it was. 

Pete was being a fucking trooper. Hard as anything as Patrick shakily pulled up and away from his dick. Patrick knew what he was doing, but didn’t make a comment as Pete looked genuinely distraught at the separation. Patrick pulled the condom off Pete’s dick and stared briefly at his hard cock before taking him down into his mouth.

Patrick didn’t stop Pete’s hands curling into his hair this time. He was too busy giving Pete the blow job of his motherfucking life. He sucked and he moaned. There was no teasing, just a wet tight suction until Pete started to come in his mouth. He swallowed it down, not bothered at the taste. It was all part of it.

“Okay, I _love_ power bottoms,” Pete was saying, when he had his voice back. His body was shaking, his breath catching, but Patrick wasn’t much better. He felt _exhausted._ Like he had all day, only it was affecting him more now that he didn’t have any tension in his body, holding him up.

He managed to squirm up the bed, until he was facing Pete. He patted his hand against Pete’s cheek, his eyelids feeling heavy. He couldn’t keep them open, not even when Pete wrapped arms over his body. Patrick shouldn’t want cuddles, but he couldn’t find it in him to wriggle away.

“Hope that was good,” Patrick managed to say. “Got told I was bad in bed, so I’m not sure. Makes me wonder...” Patrick went on to say something else, but he passed out before he could finish it.

 

Patrick woke up alone. He turned over to see that the bed beside him was empty. He wiped at his eyes and sat up, flinching when he felt the pull of muscles he'd overworked the night before. It was what he wanted; the reminder. He pulled on his clothes from the night before and walked through the house. He could smell coffee, and followed the scent into the kitchen.

“Oh hey, Patrick. I was gonna bring you a coffee up,” Pete said. He was fiddling with mugs, topless, with low slung shorts. Patrick nodded, and went over to Penny, who was eating dog food out of a small bowl. “I used to have a dog, so I had the food.”

“What happened to your dog?” Patrick asked quietly, but Pete shrugged.

“Oh. My ex got to keep him.” Pete paused and frowned. “I kinda wanna get another one, but I feel like I'm not here enough.”

“Sure,” Patrick said. He took the mug of coffee when Pete handed it to him and then sat at the breakfast bar. Sore. He'd have to get used to the feeling of a well fucked ass. 

“Who said you was bad in bed?” Patrick looked up at Pete, after taking a sip of his drink. He paused and blinked for a few seconds before answering.

“Shit. Did I say that?” A well fucked and near-sleep Patrick clearly was not one that kept his cards close to his chest. “Does it matter? He’s entitled to his opinion all the same.”

“No, he isn’t,” Pete insisted. “Not when that opinion is the most bullshit, stupidly wrong opinion someone could possibly have.”

“Right.” Patrick blinked, and rubbed at his face. Bad thoughts circled his head briefly before he shook them away.” Maybe I've just improved. It doesn't matter.”

“I guess not.” Pete didn't say anymore about it, picking up on the fact that Patrick wasn't cool with discussing that kind of shit. “What do you want to do today?”

“I dunno,” Patrick shrugged. Today was his day off, in theory he could spend it all with Pete without excuse.

“Well, what do you normally do on a day off?”

“Clean my house. Go grocery shopping, make salad that I never have a chance to eat,” Patrick shrugged. Christ, it sounded sad out loud. “I take Penny on a walk. Have an ice cream.”

“Cool! We can go on a hike,” Pete said, gleefully. Patrick's eyes bulged. He wasn't a hiker, and his ass was sore. Patrick would not be climbing anything crazy.

“Not a hard one,” he said, instead. “I have asthma.”

“I’ll keep it slow and steady,” Pete actually winked. Patrick was horrified.

Patrick ended up in shorts, t-shirt and cap, all Pete’s as they trekked up a path not far from his house. Patrick tried not to treat it like hell and focused on the fact that Penny looked to be having the time of her life, padding excitedly, sniffing everything she saw. 

He was glad when they stopped halfway up a track. If he didn't like Pete this would be the worst date ever. Pete was smiling though, looking down at the view, and Patrick didn't want to be a bitch about things.

“So is hiking your thing?” Patrick said, leaning against the remainders of a tree and drinking from the water bottle. He wiped at his brow from below the hat and stared at Pete. 

“It’s something I like to do. I can see it isn't for you, so we can stop. Go get lunch somewhere?” Pete offered. He walked over to Patrick, hands on his hips, kissing his mouth even though Patrick was sweaty and hot. Patrick kissed back because they were alone up a lonely track. 

“Somewhere discreet?” Patrick said. He couldn't have Pete outed, and definitely not when the other man was his agent.

“We’ll go somewhere low key, where no one will recognize me. I'll even treat you to an ice cream.” Pete stepped back and held out his hand. Patrick stared at it for a moment, just to be argumentative, before he rolled his eyes and took it.

 

They ate at a cute restaurant not far from the trail. No one recognized Pete, and they were sat toward the back of the restaurant, tucked into the corner, with Penny at Pete’s feet. She’d taken an annoying like towards him. 

“I get the strong sense you haven’t been in many relationships,” Pete said, as they waited for their food to arrive. Patrick was offended at the comment, and frowned directly at him.

“I was in one for six years,” Patrick said. He watched Pete’s eyebrows raise apologetically before shrugging. “I haven’t had one since. I'm not really...with work it’s hard.”

“I could see that. Plus, like, I probably shouldn't tease when I've been in more relationships than most.” His brow furrowed, like he was ashamed about it. Patrick just watched, not saying anything until Pete looked up again.

“So what are your kids ages?” he asked, because he probably should. “All five.”

“Eighteen, ten, eight, four and two.” Pete spilled them all off quickly. “Apart from the youngest, the others are all with different women. They all hate me to varying degrees, but I'm working on my mistakes. Fixing everything that I broke.”

“We all make mistakes,” Patrick said, thinking back on his own. “Holiday season must be crazy in your house.”

“Right.” Pete laughed, louder than he meant, and he looked around before leaning in close. “What about you?”

“Oh, well the festive season is always a riot with Penny around,” Patrick joked. Last Christmas he'd spent the day alone, too busy working on a deadline to make it back to his mom’s. He'd lied to her and said he was having it with Joe; told Joe it was the other way around. He didn't want people - Pete knowing - the truth.

Patrick didn't know what to do when they finished up eating. Pete wanted him to go back to his place, so they could spend the rest of the day together. Patrick wasn’t willing to do that, when he'd been fairly accommodating all date. He didn't _want_ to be a dick, but he couldn't be so easy to do what Pete wanted; couldn't fall in love or anything close to it. They'd already broken more of his rules than anticipated.

Pete kissed Patrick with a firm hand on his stomach when they got back to his place. Patrick had just been about to crawl into his car, and found himself flat against the hot metal of his car. He put his hands on Pete's chest and held them there for a moment before pulling away. He didn't say anything to Pete, just gave him what he hoped was a filthy look. 

“Goodbye, Pete,” Patrick said, pushing him further away until he could slide into his car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry about writing Patrick in panties again lmao


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick wasn't dizzy on love... it could just be dehydration.

Patrick still felt tired the next day. He'd gone home, had a bath, eaten a decent meal and had an early night, but his body felt worn down. He didn't understand it, but figured maybe sex and hiking just didn't match him. Luckily he got to spend the day with one of his calmer actresses, working through some paperwork with her in the office. The women on his books, while not as successful as his men, were much easier to deal with.

He got a few texts from Gabe over the coming days, with a review of every meal Patrick had cooked for him. He wasn't keen on the casserole, but the pasta was a hit. Patrick felt both smug that his food went down well, and pleased that Gabe appeared to be both sober and eating. Gabe was a good guy really, he just needed reeling in at times.

“Joe, I have the _largest_ headache right now,” Patrick said, complaining to his assistant when he had no other appointments to deal with. He sat on Joe’s desk, holding his head.

“Maybe you need your eyes checked,” Joe said, but Patrick shook his head.

“I just got new glasses. It's not that type… I feel kinda dizzy.” Patrick looked up at the ceiling and then down at Joe. “Maybe I'm dying.”

“Don't be a drama queen,” Joe said, pulling a bottle of water from his desk and handing it over. “You're probably just dehydrated.”

“It could be that,” Patrick agreed. He'd exerted himself the day before and he didn't always think to keep his fluid intake up. He drank half the bottle down, and then looked over at Joe’s computer screen when an email popped up. 

“This is for you,” Joe said, clicking on it. Patrick read it over his shoulder. It was Pete's PR team, with a suspiciously short email saying Pete's big magazine interview was out tomorrow. They were giving Patrick a copy early, like he got with most of his clients. They'd already veto'd it, thought it was good. 

“I hope they didn't write about me,” Patrick said, remembering that he was there for the majority of the interview. “Can you forward it to me? I'm gonna read it in my office.”

“Sure.” Joe winked and sent it over as Patrick stumbled his way back into his office, closing his door. 

The photos were boring as Patrick had no interest in seeing Pete looking up at the camera in a dumb striped shirt, trying to channel the photographer’s calls of ‘soft smile’ into something he understood. He looked confused in some of them, vaguely hot in others. Patrick scrolled until he got to the beginning and read with trepidation. 

_If I had been informed a few months ago that I’d be interviewing former teen heartthrob and infamous hot mess, Pete Wentz, I'd have laughed in your face. He was old news, dead news. When was the last time he was seen falling out of the club and into the pages of the gossip tabloids? But images change, and can be flipped just as easy as they're damaged. So I come to Pete Wentz’s hotel room without judgment (okay, maybe with a little). He’s changed plenty from memory. Gone is the rockstar vibe; the bad hair and messy make up. He’s a lean, well-built man now. Healthy but fit; short hairstyle stylishly mussed and just the slightest of stubble. Lex Dryden grew up well._  
_Still, Pete looks surprisingly nervous when I show up, whipping my badge around to the stern security on the door. He smiles and holds out a hand, asks if I found it okay. The questions fall from his mouth like nervous chatter and he cringes straight away. I think I'm endeared already. I ask him why he seems so nervous and it makes him laugh. “I haven't done this type of thing in a long while now. Like, fuck. This is the shit that made me never show up sober I could never deal [laughs].” And now? “Now I'm okay with things. I don't know. It's hard to explain, but I guess I learned how to screw my head on. Took a while, but I'm here. I think, like a lot of people, I got tricked into living a certain lifestyle, and when I got sucked in, the career I wanted faded into something else.”_  
_Pete has lived a life, four kids (five, I'm informed later) nearly all with different women, scattered across America. Two sprawling houses, an interest in music and fashion had him straying from his original path for a while but he's back. When I ask him, what made him want to make it as a serious actor he shrugs again. “I never really figured I was. Arma Angelus was my one chance at a serious movie, but by that point in my life I wasn't really acting. The life I led in that movie, was basically my life. Other than that people know me as Lex Dryden. Not exactly what I wanted.” Pete pauses for a moment, hands wedged between knees, like he feels vulnerable; open and exposed. Then his face creases up and he shrugs whatever thoughts and emotions away. “I love it though. Acting was just… what I wanted to do and be. I knew I could, but because of the shit I’d done...rehab, drugs, rehab, babies, divorces etc I became a bomb. I was never cute enough to be forgiven by the public; lived the bad boy lifestyle too hard even if I was soft. I'm like the softest, most anxious bad boy you could ever meet.” I could believe it. Wentz seems genuine here, as genuine as any actor being interviewed for the first time in a while. “Everything changed when I fired everyone a few months back. I think I was just tired of it. There was people I'd considered friends for a long fucking time, a decade or so, but I finally realized it isn't friendship when they bring nothing to the table. I wanted a real existence as a father and as an actor and I knew it wouldn't be easy.”_  
_Wentz’s stream of nervous rambling is broken up by a disruption from the other side of the door. Today is a closed interview, no one allowed in without permission. We’re informed that Pete’s mother is outside the door. Strange. Even stranger is the broad laugh Pete breaks into, as he informs the confused staff to let “her” in. Patrick Stump, agent to an eclectic collection of A-list stars, bursts into the room, very much not Wentz’s mother. Stump is a fun-sized, sharply dressed baby-faced man with an air of chaos following him into the room._  
_“Patrick is basically the reason I'm here,” Pete says, eyes following the man around the room until he disappears into the bathroom. “I heard from a friend of a friend that he's the best agent to get. That he's the guy that will get you the jobs you need, not the job you want. And he did.”_  
_When I ask how he managed to get on the the books of a man that holds Andy Hurley, Gerard Way and Gabe Saporta as his clients, he shrugs all coy. “I think I maybe pestered and talked him into it until he gave in. Not my finest hour.”_  
_Maybe not, but he's been cast as Wickham in HBO’s raunchy adaptation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. For a man with little work in the past five years, there must have been a few strings pulled. “I'm not the person to ask,” Pete shrugged. “I auditioned like everyone else. It's been amazing to work on it.”_  
_Stump wanders back into the room just as Pete goes to respond. He seems like a man lost in his own head, not capable of the savvy skills to get Pete Wentz of a past-decade’s fame third billing in a HBO show. My thoughts are backed up when Pete whispers that Stump can eat the m &m’s in the minibar. Stump spends the rest of the interview lining up the candy in colored lines and eating them slowly, ignoring the interview._  
_“Patrick's like Elsa,” Pete jokes. I sense an easy friendship between the two men rather than a business relationship. “He's kinda icy with great hair, but he's got a heart of gold.”_  
_With the theme of princesses on topic, I ask whether Pete’s got anyone new in his life. Brazen, perhaps, but for all the ways he hasn't been known as an actor in recent years, his tornado of marriages has been a popular force for gossip. “I’m single and I’m not interested. I have my kids and I’ve had my fair share of heartbreak. I can’t do anything else._  
_As the interview comes to a close, I’m still unsure I know who exactly Pete Wentz is and how he's managed to find his way back into the throws of Hollywood. Whether he’ll relight the fire of his fame and find glory is to be decided, but with one of the most savvy agents around, and a new motivation to redirect the passions of the past, Pete Wentz will soon enough be a name on everyone's lips again.  
**Pride and Prejudice is out in August.**_

 

Patrick read it through twice before throwing himself out of his chair and marching back into Joe’s space again. Joe was laughing at him already and when Patrick made a cursory glance towards the computer screen he saw the interview was pulled up.

“Oh hey Elsa,” Joe said. “You didn't like the interview?”

“I can't believe he called me that. The fucking nerve,” Patrick said, hands on his hips in frustration.

Joe though, just shrugged. “You were sitting there. Didn't you hear it?”

“I wasn't listening!” the entire thing had read like a metaphorical blow job; sucking Pete's dick and putting him right on top of a teetering pedestal again.

“You were being weird and eating m&m’s, right?” Joe said, and then shrugged when Patrick was still probably looking as horrified as he felt. “Big deal. Elsa is a badass and he said you had good hair.”

“It’s thinning,” Patrick said, but Joe made a dismissive noise.

“It’s bad _ass._ Makes you ten times cuter.” Patrick couldn't deal in compliments so said nothing. “Plus you're having sex with him. I don't think he cares if you come across weird.”

“I'm not having sex with him,” Patrick lied. “And I don't care if he finds me weird. I’m his boss.”

“I mean, I know you are having sex. I know everything about you,” Joe said smugly. “Technically you’re not his boss. He could fire you if he wanted.”

“I'm _basically_ his boss,” Patrick shrugged. “I'm not going to talk about the first part.”

“I don't care to know.” Joe knowing wasn’t a deal breaker. They were basically best friends after all. 

“She called me fun-sized. Who the fuck says that? It’s rude.”

“It’s _funny_. It means you’re really fucking tiny,” Joe said, twirling in his chair. Patrick stared at him, trying to focus his anger. But he couldn’t, not when Joe was being such a doofus.

“It’s rude,” Patrick tried, but then he started laughing too.

 

There were a lot of offhand remarks that Patrick had to deal with when the article came out. Nothing quite as terrible as he imagined; no one accused him of banging Pete Wentz, but the amount of emails that referred to him as Elsa was off-putting and frustrating. Being called mom by a group of thirty-something men was bad enough. He tried to put it behind himself, ignored it and slowly people started to call him by his actual name again, to his face at least.

He ignored Pete every time he messaged. Patrick wasn't so much annoyed at him, just at the idea that people could find out. Plus, he thought it helped him not seem so desperate to act like he liked Pete too much. Patrick didn't want to come across so needy. 

“I can't believe you're actually mad I called you Elsa. She's hot, dude,” Pete said in one voicemail. “That sounds kinda gross. But anyway, I just mean. You’re hot, dude. We should have sex.”

Patrick didn't call back, of course. Because he was better than that, and by the time Pete had left that particular message four days later, Patrick had moved on from the magazine.

Gabe was hosting one of his costume parties that night. Patrick had checked in with him, making sure he was actually up to being around a bunch of drunk, drugged idiots after his recent blip. He seemed to be in good spirits, still sober, and looking forward to whatever audition Patrick could get him. The party was a ruse, he promised, to keep up old appearances.

Costume party meant dressing up and that wasn't really Patrick's forte. In the end, he thought about all the nicknames and dumb comments people had thrown his way and went with the one that required the least amount of effort.

“You’re in bunny ears!” Gerard said, when Patrick showed up. He was dressed as...well Patrick didn't know. A dusty suit and blacked eyes. Could be anyone. Patrick stole a drink from a passing waiter and threw it down his throat.

“I know you all call me feral bunny,” Patrick said. He'd worn a red shirt, too, just to show feral anger, but he was pretty lazy about the whole thing. “How's the comic going?”

“Like you even care,” Gerard laughed, patting Patrick's shoulders and walking away. 

Patrick walked around, keeping a careful eye on most of his client who were wasted enough that it could show up in gossip blogs soon enough. Falling out of clubs wasn't the done thing anymore, but wannabe journalists and their online following could easily get into parties like this with little fibbing. 

“Boo, little bunny.” Patrick turned at the voice and felt himself being pulled into the closest room. He felt the door lock behind as he turned and saw Pete standing there, completely out of costume.

“You didn't try very hard.”

“I think I spend most of my life in costume. Wanted to be myself for once,” Pete said. He leaned in close, smelling like expensive cologne. It made Patrick feel light headed and he blinked it away as Pete's hands moved up his torso. “You still mad at me?”

“Not really,” Patrick admitted. “Just didn't want to reply.” He watched Pete fall into incredulous laughter before he pressed their lips together. Patrick honestly wasn't feeling quite right and the light headed sickness wasn't anything to do with Pete. He didn't say anything though, and just kissed back with his eyes closed. 

Before Pete, Patrick hadn't been kissed in forever. One night stands never really contained much of it for Patrick. He didn't like a whole lot of affection before getting fucked by a stranger. It just wasn't his thing. Now he thought it might be. Pete was warm and solid when Patrick pressed his palms against his chest. 

“I'm feeling kinda weird,” Patrick said when they pulled away. His eyesight wasn't great anyway, but double vision wasn't what he normally suffered with. “I think I need to go home.”

“What?” Pete said, pulling away. “You do look a little off.”

“You can come with me,” Patrick said, just so that he didn't seem like an uber bitch. Only a little one. “Come with me and we can plot to murder who spiked my drink.”

Technically, it wasn't Patrick's drink that was spiked because he'd stolen it from a tray shooting off for someone else, but he was the one dealing with the consequences. It must've been the booze because he couldn't explain the sensation otherwise.

“I don't think it was spiked with anything too insidious,” Pete was saying as they got to Patrick's house. It was smaller than Pete's by a fair amount, but there was no confusing codes to punch in and there was Penny, which made it infinitely better. “I think someone just mixed a ton of alcohol. Because you're still conscious and everything.”

“Hate being flat out drunk,” Patrick said, even though he couldn't keep his eyes open. He was in his bed, somehow. He didn't remember making it up the stairs. “I'm a control freak.”

“Just sleep it off, Patrick.” 

Patrick woke up the next morning to something furry. It wasn't Penny, because she was licking his hand. He rubbed at his eyes and realized it was the bunny ears from the night before. He felt hungover, and didn't recall much from the previous night. Being at a party, talking to Gerard and then being in a small dark room with Pete. 

He crawled into his shower once he'd hugged Penny a little bit. He hoped whoever the drink had been for was feeling good, nice and refreshed. Patrick wasn't feeling as bad as he could have done and he'd been worse. In all honesty, he hadn't felt super with it for a couple of weeks now so maybe it had just been too much alcohol on a weak body. 

Patrick ate some fruit in his kitchen before remembering that he'd actually bought Pete back here the night before. He finished his mango and then walked through his house. His guest bedroom door was closed and he pushed it open to see a body lying in the bed. Patrick's first reaction was to be pissed that Pete hadn't stayed with him, but then he rationalized with himself. Patrick didn't like having men in his personal bed; it was one of his hangups. 

Pete had his eyes shut as Patrick approached, but they opened when he sat on the edge of the bed, resting his hand gently on Pete’s bare stomach.

“Oh, good morning,” Pete whispered. “How are you feeling?”

“Suspiciously alive.” Patrick paused speaking to stroke his hand over Pete's stomach. “I don't remember last night apart from the drink and I feel okay. In general. Sorry you had to waste a party with your mess of an agent.”

“It isn't a waste to spend time with you,” Pete said and Patrick _hated_ that he felt himself turning red at the comment. “You still look pretty wiped.”

“I've felt like that for at least a month now. I should probably get checked out by my doctor but I haven't had time.” Patrick laughed and then shrugged. “I'm fine, really. This is more fun.” Patrick slid a hand into Pete's shorts, stroking him over gently. 

“You shouldn't feel like you have to do this,” Pete smirked at Patrick, lifting his hips into Patrick’s touch. Patrick curled his hand around Pete, hating how much he enjoyed the weight and feel of it; the way his fingers were learning to adjust to the right size. 

“Oh, I can stop.” Patrick pulled his hands away, quite happily, laughing when Pete grimaced. He slid his hand around Pete's dick again and gave it a few long strokes, watching his face. He wasn't actually feeling it, if he was being honest. He felt dizzy all of a sudden and tried to blink it away.

“Hey, are you okay?” Pete asked, brushing Patrick's hand from his dick and touching his shoulders. Patrick forced his eyes open and nodded. If he didn't move, he'd be okay. He just needed to let it pass.

“I think we need to IOU the quickie,” Patrick explained. He pushed lightly at Pete's shoulders, telling him to lay down. When he did so, Patrick laid against him, pressing his face into the side of Pete's neck. “Trade a fuck for a cuddle?”

“That sounds amazing,” Pete said. He put his arms around Patrick, holding him close. Patrick hadn't allowed anything like this yet, it felt so intimate, but he was too worn down to say otherwise.

Patrick napped against Pete. He wasn't sure how long he was out, or for how long when he awoke, he stayed there, stroking his fingers over Pete's chest. He felt safe here, which was weird because he hadn't felt _unsafe_ beforehand. Maybe it was the wrong word. He felt caught; trapped in a good way. 

He sat up eventually, using Pete's chest to help him up. He still felt strung out, but not as dizzy as before. Pete smiled at him lazily, white teeth on show. 

“Don't you have work today?” Patrick said, not wanting to be too nice when they'd spent a good hour cuddling. That wasn't what this was supposed to be.

“Not really. I gotta meet with PR for something, but the rest of my day is free.” Pete's hand moved to rest on Patrick's thigh. Patrick stared at it, and then at Pete.

“Why did you sleep in here last night?”

“Because I didn't want to encroach on your drunken state of mind. Plus, you know, everything has to be on your terms,” Pete had been laughing, but it didn't seem to be at Patrick, rather just at the conversation. 

“But you said you liked breaking rules,” Patrick pointed out. Pete gave him a wide eyed look, like he didn't understand why he was in trouble. 

“Someone must've really broken your heart, huh?” Pete said. “I’ll break your little rules when we’re both sober or drunk, but not at any other point, alright?”

“Fine,” Patrick said, shrugging. He hadn't liked the first thing Pete had said, like it was obvious what had happened. “I've got some calls to make.”

 

Pete left at some point in the afternoon for his meeting with PR. Patrick was suppose to be at work, but he just made calls from home instead. He had a go at Gabe, for letting drinks be tampered with so easy. Patrick didn't care about himself, not really, but he didn't like the idea of someone vulnerable and alone being in the position he'd been in. He still wasn't sure if it had been the drink or his own body, but it felt easier to blame it on the party. 

Patrick shuffled out to check his mail before taking Penny for a walk. He had a greeting card with his name typed on the front and he started at it with unease. He already knew what it was before opening it. Still, he ripped open the envelope and stared at the words. At least it wasn't a script this time.

_Patrick, you silly boy. Don't you know some things are going to get you into trouble?_

There was nothing else, but Patrick had been waiting for something like this for a while now. He knew sleeping with Pete wasn't one of his finest moments in life, and yet he couldn't think of anyone that knew that would actually care. He was more uneasy about this than he had been anything else. The scripts could be anyone playing a trick on him, one of his dumb clients thinking it was funny, but this was directed squarely at him. He looked across the road, but there was no one around.

 

Patrick sat at Joe's desk the next day trying to think about how to approach things. He was poking his jaw, and jiggling his legs up and down, trying not to panic Joe about anything. 

“So like. You know my ex?” Patrick said. He didn't like to give him a name, because to give him a name meant to talk about him like he cared. And he didn't care. Not anymore. Joe looked up at Patrick in alarm. He'd been writing something down, to send to the main reception, but he stared at Patrick nervously.

“What about that motherfucker?” Joe said. He'd taken the breakdown in the relationship about as well as Patrick, which was good. It showed Patrick his loyalty if nothing else. 

“It's nothing too bad, just I've been getting some mail that I think I need to send onto him.”

“I know you’re lying,” Joe said. “Patrick, what is it?”

“It isn't anything. I just… I need to check something out and it's do with him.” Patrick looked Joe right in the eye, hoping he looked as truthful as he was trying to be. “I don't want to contact him or anything, but I just need to make sure of something.”

“The way you're talking makes me seriously uncomfortable,” Joe said. “But I know you're not as dumb as you look so I don't think you're gonna do anything too idiotic.”

“You're an asshole,” Patrick said, but he was thankful. “I'm not even gonna speak to him. I just need to snoop a little.”

“I’ll try and find him. Somehow.” Joe's face closed up briefly, before he changed the subject. “I’ve got a gig tonight. You should come.”

“I will always go to your gigs!” Patrick said, which _was_ true. He'd always put himself out there for Joe, it's just what you do when you're friends with someone amazing. “Where is it?”

Joe told him the time and place, and then gave Patrick another look, this time with his eyebrow raised. “You could bring someone if you like.”

“I wouldn't know who,” Patrick shrugged, looking down at his feet. It wasn't with coyness, he just didn't want to go there with Joe.

Joe made a dissatisfied noise. “Bring Pete Wentz to my gig, I'm sure he’ll love it.”

 

Patrick tried to be cool about it as he called Pete that night. “Okay, so you don't have to come. In case you've got one of your five kids over.”

“I don't,” Pete said gleefully. “I’d love to come to a gig with you. I didn't know Joe was in a band.”

“Yeah, he's way better at guitar than he is scheduling meetings for me, but I actually pay him better.”

“I can't believe you pay your best friend to be your assistant.”

“He's the only person that would put up with me,” Patrick shrugged down the phone. He thought about seeing Pete that night and how it would make him feel. He had butterflies, from his stomach to his chest. He really didn't want to feel this way about Pete.

 

Of course Pete looked good. Even in a black vest with his shitty tattoos on show. They were actually pretty hot tattoos if Patrick blurred his eyes. He liked the minimal colors. They didn’t kiss, but Patrick felt his face color at the way Pete looked at him. Patrick led him backstage, to the shitty dressing room that was just a backstage hangout of everyone.

“I always wanted to go backstage,” Pete whispered to Patrick from their corner of the room. ”Gun's n Roses mainly.”

“I always wanted to be in a band,” Patrick admitted cautiously, looking up at Pete with a smile. “ _Not_ Gun’s n Roses.”

“Patrick, what’s your poison?” Patrick turned to the sound of Marie calling to him. She had whiskey in one hand and wine in another. She gave one filthy look to Pete before smirking. “You brought Lex Dryden. Joe said you would.”

“You’re drunk,” Patrick laughed at her, trying to remember the last time he’s seen her this wasted. “I’m not drinking tonight.” He still wasn’t feeling totally with it, and what with the whole Gabe’s party debacle, he was off booze for a while.

“Spoilsport,” she said, but then turned away. She was a badass lawyer, she could play drunk groupie to Joe without too much ribbing from Patrick.

“How long have you known Joe?” Pete asked. He wasn’t drinking either, probably because of Patrick, but it made being in a room of wasted rockers a little more comforting. Patrick stayed close to him, squeezed close on the beat-up couch.

“We grew up in the same neighborhood. Different schools, but his mom would babysit me after school and we’d hang out. Ended up moving to LA together to start our careers. He was supposed to be a famous rock star at this point and not my assistant, but things don’t always work out that way.”

“Wow. You go back a long way,” Pete pointed out, but Patrick just shrugged. It didn’t really matter to him. “I’m only in contact with one person from high school and that’s the girl I knocked up.”

“How old were you?” Patrick asked, trying not to care.

“Seventeen. She’s the only ex that likes me but I think it’s because of where we came from. I dunno. She knew me before.”

“That makes sense,” Patrick agreed, leaning only slightly into Pete’s side.

Joe’s band did have a fair few ardent fans and they tended to sell out the small clubs they played in super quick. Usually it meant a night pressed squarely between sweaty metalhead shoulders, but Patrick wasn’t really in the mood for that. Pete didn’t seem to mind standing to the side, watching from near where Marie was drunkenly dancing to her husband’s band.

The atmosphere was still really thick and heavy from where they were watching and Patrick didn’t mind when Pete’s hand wrapped around his waist, bringing him in close. It gave him something to focus on, to stop him fumbling around stupidly. Patrick’s head was spinning and he felt a little like he couldn’t breathe, but he figured it would pass if he just shut his eyes and felt the music.

And Patrick didn’t even hate the band that much, though he couldn’t really hate anything Joe did because he was Joe, but he was possibly too sober to enjoy it and well, he wasn’t feeling great at all. He tapped Pete’s hand on his waist and made eye contact with him. Pete seemed to get it, because he made to leave immediately.

“You look close to passing out,” Pete said, when they were away from the stage. The band was still loud; barely dulled, but Patrick felt like he could breathe better now.

“I feel better out here. I think I have to leave though.”

“I’ll take you back to mine,” Pete said, but Patrick shook his head.

“I can’t leave Penny alone.”

“Fine, I’ll come back to yours. Just to make sure you’re okay, and to be there when you call the doctor in the morning. You’ve not been right for a few weeks now. You said so yourself.”

“That I did.” Patrick nodded, but it made his vision go even worse. 

Patrick's fairly certain they got a cab back to his place, but he kept his eyes shut the entire way, just in case he felt the need to hurl. He just held onto Pete’s leg and grimaced until they pulled up at his house.

“Can you text Joe and tell him I had to leave. I don't want him making assumptions,” Patrick said as they walked into his house. “I don't know if you have his number so use my phone.”

Patrick fell into bed, still dressed in his clothes. It wasn't so much that he was tired, just that closing his eyes made the world stop spinning for a little while. He fell asleep quickly, but woke in the dead of the night. Pete was beside him, Patrick could hear the rhythmic breathing of him deep in sleep, but he felt sick and stumbled from the bed.

Patrick couldn't see and he felt about half a minute away from passing out. He just...maybe a glass of water would be okay. He walked with his hand against the wall, guiding his blurred vision. He ended up in the bathroom, hanging over the sink for a while as he listened to the sound of his own blood pumping in his ears. He's fairly certain he wasn't out of the bathroom before his legs gave way and he smashed his head on the corner of something hard.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick agrees to take some time off to recover and heads back to Chicago with Pete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely feedback :)

Patrick's head was hurting as he opened his eyes. His eyesight was blurry, and his mouth was dry. He blinked a few times, and waited for the hospital room to come to him. It was daylight at least.

“Hi doofus,” Patrick turned his head to see Joe sitting there. He looked tired, hair scraped back and a black coffee in his hands. 

“What happened?” Patrick asked. His tongue felt gross and as he became more aware of his body, his arm felt weird; cold and numb. He looked at it and saw an IV nudged into the vein in his arm. Totally uncalled for.

“You hit your head in the bathroom. Pete said he heard you puking and went to check and found you unconscious with your head split half-way open. There was blood everywhere or so I heard. He called me this morning. Way to ruin a fuckin’ post-show high,” Joe’s tone softened at the end. “How long have you been feeling this bad?”

“Dunno, a few weeks. I kept thinking about getting checked out, but I'm always busy.”

Joe wasn't impressed and snorted his disapproval. “Well, it’s a good job you’re sleeping with one of your clients. Imagine what would have happened if there hadn’t been anyone around?”

“I thought I was the one people called mom,” Patrick said, not wanting to fight Joe when he was both groggy and in the wrong. “Where is Pete?”

“He was with you most of the night,” Joe said, staring pointedly at Patrick when he peeped a look at him. “He’s gone to freshen up and clean up the blood in your bathroom.”

“Okay.” Patrick nodded, hating that he felt disappointed. “So, wait. What is wrong with me?”

“They haven’t said much,” Joe said. “But I don’t think it’s serious. They’re mostly concerned ‘cause, you know, you passed out and split your forehead open. I’ll go get someone.” Joe stood up and patted Patrick’s shoulder briefly before leaving the room.

Joe came back with a doctor who fussed with Patrick’s IV and waved a light in his eyes for a few seconds. He blinked the light away, feeling uncomfortable as she stared at him, running through questions about the date, the president and what he did yesterday. Patrick stumbled his way through it before she finally explained.

“Your blood pressure is way below what is normal. You’re anemic and dehydrated. Do you have a decent diet?

Patrick laughed, wishing he hadn’t when she raised an eyebrow. “Like. Not great? I work long hours, grab shit on the go. I dunno.”

“Stress?”

“Um. I guess work is stressful.” Patrick thought of how he’d have to go to the office later and catch up on the flood of emails he’d have missed today. The thought of it almost made him want to sob, he could feel lead in his bones, weighing him down. “I’ve been feeling light headed for a while. A few weeks, really.”

“Low blood pressure can make you feel faint and nauseous. We’re re-hydrating your electrolytes right now. I think we can fix the anemia with some multivitamins and a balanced diet.“ She pointed at the IV as Patrick licked at the edge of his lips. “You need rest. You need to start looking after yourself, Patrick.”

“He’s good at looking after everyone else,” Joe said from beside Patrick. He’d forgotten he was there. Patrick felt uncomfortable and just shrugged his shoulder. “Is this serious?”

“It’s fixable,” she said. “Some lifestyle changes are in order. More fluids, more salt and vegetables in your diet and less stress. Fainting and knocking yourself out because you’re not giving your body what it needs is much more concerning. You may not be as lucky next time. I’m signing you off work for two weeks, but I want you to have a blood test before you return to work to make sure your levels have picked up.”

“No.” Patrick shook his head, even though it hurt to do so. “I can’t be off two weeks. That’s way too long.”

“It’s fine. Do it, doc,” Joe said. He had his hand in Patrick’s hair and was stroking affectionately. “I can hold court for a while. I’ll forward all the _really important_ emails, but they’ll understand. You’ve never taken a day off in your life.”

“But what am I meant to do for two weeks?” 

 

Pete turned up an hour or so later, not long after Joe left. Joe was going to the office, to put out the message that Patrick was taking some due leave at work. He didn't mention anything official, but Joe was a gossip and Patrick figured at least some of his clients would find out.

Patrick managed to make it to the bathroom without too much dizziness. The doctor had told him to take things slowly, to sit up in stages and wait a moment before standing. It made him feel like a freaking invalid, but he did what was told of him and got the fright of his life looking at the white scrap of gauze taped over his forehead. 

When he made it back into his bed, Pete was siting in the chair that Joe had vacated. Patrick felt relief flood through him so quick that he had to hold onto the wall to stop himself falling over again. He felt now, more than ever, that he really was falling for Pete.

“You’re conscious!” Pete said happily, and then stood up to help Patrick over to the bed. Patrick didn't really need it, but he said nothing and just clutched to Pete. “What's the news?”

“Apparently moms aren’t nagging for no reason when they say you gotta eat your vegetables,” Patrick laughed as he sat on the corner of the bed. He felt stupidly weak and pretty groggy. “I always thought high blood pressure was a stress thing, but I got hit with the other end of the bat.”

“That's why you've been feeling so tired and dizzy,” Pete nodded along, like he totally knew this in the first place. “How are they treating you?”

“They're keeping me in for observation ‘cause I blacked out, but I've been signed off for two weeks and they're not letting me back until my blood work shows improvement.” Patrick rolled his eyes, still not comfortable with the idea of no work. “Basically I have to eat decent meals, drink a ton of water and rest for two weeks.”

“Wow, okay.” Pete's face picked up when Patrick looked at him and he squeezed it up momentarily before he caught Patrick's eye contact. “I'm heading back to Chicago for a while, to see my daughter and family. You could come with me.”

Patrick suddenly understood the blushing. “You want me to meet your daughter?”

“No, not that. Not yet. I just meant you could come to Chicago with me. I have a place there, and it could be a good chance to just get away from LA for a while.” Patrick missed Chicago _bad_ , so bad sometimes, but he hadn't been back in forever.

“That doesn't sound like the _worst_ idea,” Patrick said, because he couldn't be totally soft about the entire thing. “You know, I actually hate hospitals so I think I wanna leave sooner rather than later.”

“Why do you hate hospitals?” Pete laughed, holding out his hand so Patrick could balance properly as he stood again. 

“I dated a doctor. Which basically means I dated the hospital too, somehow.” It would be ironic for Patrick to bump into him when he planned on spying on him a little anyway. But not ironic enough for Patrick to laugh it off. The last thing he wanted to happen was to be seen with a bandaged forehead because he'd passed out in the bathroom.

“You dated a doctor? That's cool,” Pete said. He shrugged when Patrick looked at him. He didn't have it in him to mention all the ways that relationship nearly broke him, and continued toward the nurses station instead.

 

He didn't have to put up too much of a fight to leave. Just signed a few forms and promised to call his doctor's office to arrange a blood test. Pete waited for Patrick to invite him in before he bundled out of the car in excitement. It made Patrick laugh, made him lean against Pete a little closer. 

“I'm gonna fix you something to eat. Something nutritious,” Pete said, winking at Patrick as they walked into the house. Patrick felt weak, though better for the drugs they'd sneaked into his veins earlier. 

“Good luck finding something edible,” Patrick responded, following Pete into the kitchen. He watched in amusement as Pete stared at the sad contents of Patrick's refrigerator. “If I'm going to Chicago for two weeks I'll have to call Ryan.”

“Who's Ryan?” Pete asked, opening a cupboard and finding a bag of potatoes, all with their own fresh garbled shoots. 

“He looks after Penny. I met him on a shoot once, but he has a hard time leaving the house. Agoraphobia, I guess. He couldn't keep a steady job, and I felt bad about that so I pay him to look after my dog. And also bitch at me because I'm a pain in the ass.”

“You're so much kinder than you give yourself credit for,” Pete said. Patrick looked over at him, but then shrugged.

“I just try to help out where I can.”

Patrick only got _half_ an earful off Ryan about leaving him with no warning. He hadn’t planned to explain what happened, but the chewing out was giving him even more of a headache than he already had. When he mentioned he’d been in hospital, Ryan changed his tone and sounded surprised.

“Well, shit. You should have said something sooner,” Ryan drawled. Patrick frowned, wondering how he was meant to get a word in anyway. “Be in touch when you’re back. Tell Penny I'll miss her.”

Patrick didn’t know how to pack for two weeks away. The thought was making him nervous as he looked at his closet. Pete was laying on his bed, still gloating about the fact that he’d somehow made a decent stir fry from the edible remnants of Patrick’s food stock.

“Just make sure you pack some panties,” Pete said, when Patrick looked at his neat row of suits, his bow ties looped in the drawer. Patrick was hardly going to pack work clothes, but he spent so long in them that they felt like the norm to him.

“Right.” Patrick frowned at his closet and closed the door instead. He could do it in the morning. He went to his bathroom and tried not to look for any stray spots of blood that Pete may have missed. He stared at himself in the mirror and pulled back the gauze over his forehead. He had a stitched-up gash across his forehead, about three inches long, angry and swollen. It looked worse than it probably was but Patrick didn’t like looking at it. He taped the gauze over it again and combed his hair down, before walking back into the bedroom.

“I had a meeting with PR,” Pete said. “Over the phone. On the way back to the hospital.” Patrick stumbled on the bed against Pete, waiting for him to continue. “They think I should get. Like. A girlfriend for show.”

“A beard isn’t a bad idea,” Patrick agreed. “You’re out there, you’re looking good. Interest is gonna move to your private life soon enough.”

“You don’t mind?” Pete asked. Patrick just shrugged, knowing how this shit worked.

“It’s your decision. Whatever works best for you and the kids. I personally don’t want to become a headline in a gossip column. If you having a fake girlfriend gets around that, then I’m all for it.” Patrick wiped at his face and then sighed. “I’m so tired, Pete. It’s safe for me to sleep now, right?”

“Yeah. I’d say so. Get some rest.” Pete leaned over and kissed Patrick’s forehead, the one area that wasn’t currently sutured together. “You’ve completely torn up the rules in your email. You know that?”

“I’m trying not to think about it,” Patrick whispered back, still with his eyes shut. It scared him to think about.

Joe was being a dick about Patrick going to Chicago with Pete for two weeks, full on gloating like he was actually excited. Patrick was still too wiped to argue as passionately as he would normally and just sat on the edge of his bed, with his phone clasped to his ear as he looked at his suitcase.

“It isn't like that,” Patrick said softly. Pete was gone, arranging travel details for later that day, but Patrick still felt like he should be whispering. “I don't want it to be like that.”

“Give yourself a chance, dude. You like each other, you look good together and you seem happy for the first time in a long while. It's time for you to put yourself out there.”

“I do like him,” Patrick admitted, because he could with Joe. “It’s the idea of trusting someone again that scares me.”

“You can trust him. He's a good guy, Patrick. Go spend the next couple of weeks falling in love with him. Enjoy his dick, but not too much, you're in recovery remember?” Joe teased and Patrick was so incensed he couldn't think of a retort that he simply hung up instead. 

 

Pete was friends with someone that had a jet they could use, which was way better than flying business. Patrick was still feeling faint and he collapsed into one of the soft chairs when they made it onto the plane. 

Patrick drank water and sat quietly as they flew. He didn't like it too much, never had, but he kept thinking of his hometown and how long it had been since he'd last been back. Forever, really. He'd got so caught up in his work that he never had time for anything else.

Pete owned the top floor of a building; a three bedroom apartment and it was way more to Patrick's taste than the sprawling villas back in LA. It was nice, but Patrick felt a little at a loss, like he had no footing or control here.

“Okay. You look completely wiped,” Pete said, touching the side of Patrick's face. The complex was cluttered with books everywhere, Patrick secretly loved that Pete was such a bookworm. Patrick looked around, rather than at Pete. “Go get some rest. I'm gonna head to the store, get some food in.”

Patrick did as he was told, partly because he was too exhausted to care otherwise. The bedroom was a little dusty, from lack of use in months but Patrick pushed open a window and it cleared the air a little more before he was falling to sleep once more. 

When he woke up he felt fully awake. Still tired to the bones, but not like he needed actual sleep. Pete was still gone, but Patrick showered and changed into clothes he'd shoved in his suitcase; a zip-up hoodie and lounge pants. 

Patrick was in Pete's open plan living room, reading a book on the history of Chicago when Pete got back, swinging bags from his wrists. He stood up, blinking away the dizziness when he did it too quick and walked over to where Pete was dropping the bags onto the kitchen counter. 

“I think I raided the fruit and vegetables hard. You’re gonna leave Chicago having eaten more decent meals in two weeks than you have in six months,” Pete joked, but he was probably right.

“The funny thing is I actually skipped eating and sleeping one night to cook a week's worth of meals for one of my clients,” Patrick joked, thinking to how he helped Gabe out a few weeks back. “I made a top notch bolognese for sure.”

“You wanna make it now?” Pete offered and Patrick nodded, taking him up on it.

Patrick made the bolognese and added more veg because he figured that would get him more brownie points with his low blood pressure. He wondered how long it would take for it to stop making him so lightheaded. He didn't feel as close to passing out as he had previously, but it was frustrating. 

“Damn this is edible, dude. I was expecting nothing good considering the barren state of your kitchen,” Pete said as they ate at the small table. Patrick could see out to the city from the large windows and he stared out at it, at the skyline that he always considered home.

“It always seemed dumb making food for one,” Patrick said. “So I just started eating out more, or working through dinner. I guess I need to change this up.”

“Or invite me around for dinner instead,” Pete joked, winking when Patrick finally looked over at him. Patrick just rolled his eyes and ignored him.

 

Pete was meeting up with his daughter the next day, but Patrick didn't mind. He was feeling a little bit stronger and was itching to walk the streets of a city he loved. He told Pete he'd be back by five, and kissed him goodbye, like they were serious or something. He didn't stay long enough for Pete to mention anything or tease him. He just clipped the leash to Penny's collar and familiarized himself with where he was.

Patrick hadn't ever felt at home in LA, though he'd got used to it over time. In the past few years he'd worked his ass off so that he never really had down time to notice that he wasn't really feeling the scene. It was all just too hot and everyone was just a little too fake for him, but that was the game.

A few hours after walking the streets with Penny, dipping into record stores and bookshops, feeling invisible and free for the first time in forever, he started to feel the day’s activities reflect on his tired body. He took a breather on a park bench, regrettably opposite an inviting looking gelato bar.

As his phone starting buzzing in his pocket, he frowned and fiddled with it, seeing Joe's number pop up on the screen. They really couldn't go a day without talking, clearly. Patrick hoped things hadn't fallen apart already without him.

“Hey Joe. I'm sitting opposite the cutest looking gelato bar right now. Would it be super dumb of me to buy a scoop or two?” he asked. He wanted pistachio and almond. That would be killer.

“Aren't you supposed to be fixing your diet?” Joe joked, and Patrick shrugged away, stroking Penny asleep in his lap. “How’s it going?”

“It's not been a full day yet,” Patrick said. “It’s going good, I think. Pete's with his daughter and I'm just hanging out by myself. It isn't as lame as it sounds.”

“Have you been out all day?” Joe started to nag, but Patrick cut in.

“Yes, but I'm gonna head back in a little while. I'm feeling tired now. Why did you call, has something happened?”

“Nothing serious. So far everyone is on their best behavior. All auditions were attended, Frank has a callback for a show. I actually called with some info on your ex. The stuff you asked about before everything happened.”

“Oh right,” Patrick swallowed, feeling uneasy with the quiet tone of Joe. “What is it?”

“I didn't look into anything, sounds like something you want to do for yourself, but I was just gonna give you his online profile.”

“Okay, that's good. Thanks, Joe. I really do appreciate it.”

“Yeah, I know. Just, stay safe alright? Cuddle with Pete and enjoy the city,” Joe said, before they hung up. Joe texted Patrick the info and he clicked through the links. It made him feel uncomfortable and slightly like a creep but then he figured whatever, he was with this asshole for six years.

The Facebook was boring, open for most to see and just full of pictures of him taken during work conventions, with different men until the past year where it was always the same one; small, blonde. Like Patrick now. Weird. Then Patrick clicked another link, this one he didn't understand until he realized they were advertisements. PNP, addresses for hotels or private homes. Patrick felt sick, but suddenly so so glad that he was no longer a part of that relationship. For all he saw, he didn't think his ex had cast a moment back over his shoulder to Patrick. It wasn't him sending the messages.

By the time Patrick made it back to the apartment he was exhausted. He was feeling slightly panicked that Pete would come back with his daughter. Patrick figured he had every right to, but it would feel too strange, too awkward. 

Patrick wanted to shower, but he was feeling lightheaded again and didn't fancy a matching gash on the other side of his forehead. He ate toast instead, staring at Penny making a bed on the corner of Pete's couch. Patrick ate his toast, feeling a little better just as Pete walked in.

“Good day?” Patrick asked, as Pete stared at him, looking exhausted as he collapsed in the chair next to him. 

“Oh man. Teenagers,” Pete said. “She’s awesome but I, like, do not understand half of what she's saying. She's grown so much this last year.” he paused and then touched Patrick's shoulder. “How are you?”

“Good.” Patrick nodded, and then shrugged. “Feeling kinda wiped now. Think I overdid it a little, but man. I love this city.”

“Same.” Pete nodded. He looked at Patrick, and then smiled. It felt good, companionable. Fucking normal.

Patrick could have done with a glass of wine that night, but he wasn't allowed to drink so he stuck to orange juice and cuddled with Pete on the couch, watching some dumb movie that they tore apart between them.

Patrick couldn't really get his mind off of looking up the past. It was shitty, and the relationship was long since over with, but now that Patrick was fairly certain he hadn't been the one sending him shitty scripts and letters, he was starting to really wonder who was.

“You seem lost in dreamland,” Pete said, their foreheads touching as the movie played on. Patrick just nodded, nudging Pete with his nose slightly.

“I keep thinking about my ex today. I started looking back and it's made me feel shit,” Patrick said. He figured as he was here, in Chicago, with Pete like they were serious, he may as well explain the shit in his past. “Do you know what PNP is?”

“No.” Pete sat up, so that he was staring squarely at Patrick. It was hard looking him in the eye, so Patrick focused on the TV instead, even as he shifted his hand until it was folded in Pete’s.

“Party and Play. It's like orgies with drugs. Methamphetamine mostly, that's what I read when I looked it up. My boyfriend, he was a doctor. He _is_ a doctor. Can you work it out yet?”

“Are you saying your boyfriend supplied drugs to gangbangs?” Pete said. He turned around and muted the TV, so that it was just there voices in the quiet apartment. Patrick still stared at the screen, rather than at Pete. “He wasn't struck off?”

“I don't think he made it public information. I didn't fucking know about it until I followed him to a party once. I was tired of being left alone… of waiting up, knowing that he was doing something shitty and I saw him and all these dudes... “ Patrick had the scene in his head, all of it. “I don't think I saw a single fucking condom around, and I could see a lot of fucking dicks.”

“What did you do?”

“I went home,” Patrick laughed. “Obviously he didn't come home until after he'd finished the party, fucking whatever dudes hopped on his dick and then he said nothing. I dunno. I think I started the story in the wrong place because things have been so shitty for so long, but that's always the bit that stuck in my head. Like, that was the part that really destroyed me.”

“Start at the beginning. It sounds like a story you don't wanna tell, so why don't you give me your worst tonight and I’ll give you something tragic tomorrow?” Pete offered. He was too sweet and Patrick was too emotional to do anything else other than nod and let Pete kiss him softly. 

“Eight years ago I met this guy and we fell in love quick. I was working PR at the time, before I swapped sides and--”

“I didn't know you worked PR.”

“I was good at it too, which is why I'm good at knowing a good deal for you when I see one, but that doesn't matter. I was PR and he was working Plastics and it just felt right. Things were good for four years, but then things changed. I swapped sides, picked up a few clients and he was always at the hospital and when he wasn't he was away at seminars. Well, like. I thought he was until I realized otherwise. Then I just _pretended_ that I thought he was at seminars.”

“Why?” Pete was frowning at Patrick, who was one hundred percent aware of what a pathetic little wimp he was.

“‘Cause I loved him. I loved him when he started to call my work vapid, I loved him when he stopped wanting to fuck me with the lights on, and I loved him even when we were out for dinner with Joe and Marie and he announced in front of everyone that maybe I shouldn’t go for that dessert.”

“Why would he say that?”

“Because I was getting fat,” Patrick shrugged. “I was so desperate to hold onto the relationship no matter what, as if that would make things right. He knew that I knew about the parties and the drugs, but he never stopped, never left so I thought....man, I don't even know. I was in a super bad place, no self esteem, no understanding of what I was even doing. I was like ‘let's get a dog!’ because I thought getting a dog would mean he wouldn't leave, but he brought Penny home one night and left a week later. Literally left me for his goddamn intern. I still don't know why then, and not the two years that I'd been with him, knowing everything.”

“That is like the shittiest shit ever,” Pete said, like he couldn’t quite picture it. “I feel really bad for saying dating a doctor must be cool.”

“Dating a doctor is probably cool if he isn't a plastic surgeon having chemsex on the weekends.” He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling hot and uncomfortable. “After he left and the crying jag stopped I lost a ton of weight, bleached my hair and decided to be a bitch to everyone in my sight, just so they wouldn’t get close to me.”

“And then you met me.” Pete leaned in and kissed Patrick. It shouldn’t have been endearing, but Patrick was tired, so he kissed back. When he pulled away from Patrick, he just started stroking his face instead. Patrick felt dizzy on something close to affection and also a little wet around the eyelashes.”It means a lot that you told me that.”

“You don't have to be so dramatic about it,” Patrick insisted, rolling in his eyes, trying not to laugh when Pete’s face ended up in his neck.

 

Pete was being overly attentive to Patrick as they made it up to the bedroom. Patrick was feeling a little raw from spilling everything out and part of him wanted to lock himself away in a room and just be alone. Patrick did like the hands on his body though, the kisses against his neck, but he wanted to fight against them.

“Don't do this to make me feel better,” Patrick muttered, hands around Pete, in his hair, feeling his body. “Makes it even more embarrassing.”

“Why are you embarrassed?”

“Because you know how stupid I was,” Patrick shrugged. He looked at Pete, who was curling fingers into the waistband of Patrick’s soft lounge pants and dragging them down. “Exposed my weakness.”

“It isn't a weakness,” Pete said, though Patrick didn't know if he even understood what Patrick had meant. Patrick wanted to tuck it back away, the words and the explanations so that they were hidden from Pete again. 

Patrick didn't respond, even as his bottom half was exposed. He held onto Pete’s shoulders and then his hair as Pete burrowed down between Patrick's thighs and took him into his mouth. Pete wasn't trying to show off this time so it felt better than his first attempt at the party. His hands were soft on Patrick’s skin, holding him down as he sucked. Patrick shut his eyes and didn't try to fight it. 

There was a shift, just when Patrick was starting to get into the feel of fingers and tongue dancing over his dick. Pete's hands moved lifting Patrick’s hips and he knew where this was going, the flicker of excitement swelled in his chest as he felt Pete's hands draw back, opening him up. 

The feel of Pete's wet tongue pressing down was enough to have Patrick hitching his hips up. Pete pressed them down, hands shoved either side over his hips, holding him down to the bed. Patrick didn't like to have control snatched from him so quickly, but the way Pete's tongue was teasing and dancing against and inside him was all kinds of amazing.

He hadn't had his ass eaten in forever. It wasn't something he felt he could just ask someone to do as much as he loved having it happen. He just arched his back as best he could, grappling onto his hard dick as Pete really started going for it.

He wasn't sure when the teasing of tongue turned into something else, but he could feel Pete's spit-slick fingers nudging against Patrick’s ass. Fingers hooked; spreading him open and his tongue delved deeper, lips nudging against his rim, teeth tracing in a delicious threatening graze. Then he was being spread open with thumbs, and Pete was sucking, licking and tracing over Patrick's ass, three fingers replacing his tongue just as Patrick started to come against his belly. 

Pete didn't remove his fingers even when Patrick had finished coming. He was shuddering around them and he wondered how it felt for Pete, to feel Patrick like that. He still didn't remove them even as he shifted up the bed. His lips were swollen pink and he had spit shining on his chin. 

“I wanna put a plug in you so badly,” Pete said, curling his three fingers. Patrick shuddered; sore and sensitive, trying to fight back control. “Wanna see how you take it.”

“I’d take it easy,” Patrick admitted with lazy pride. He wondered why Pete was still being so taut and wiry before looking and see how Pete was hard to the front of his jeans. He'd forgotten it had only been about him. Patrick moved his hands, until he was pulling Pete out of his pants. He wasn't taking Pete's dick, he was too tired, and anyway, Pete's fingers were still firmly buried inside his ass. But he could lend him a hand.

Patrick jerked Pete off with slow and careful movements, slow, twisting at the head before dragging his hand down again. Pete's fingers were moving inside him to the same rhythm. Patrick wanted to say something, to make it really dirty, but Pete was almost there already and didn't seem to need much help. 

Pete started to come quickly, shooting against Patrick's forearm, the rest landing on Patrick's stomach. Patrick's midsection was covered in come and it wasn't a particular kink of his so he was not entirely impressed. 

Pete finally pulled his fingers from Patrick, shaking on the bed next to him. He flopped face down and Patrick placed a hand on his shoulder as he plucked tissues from the nightstand and wiped at his own stomach.

“All the things I wanna do to you, fuck,” Pete was saying. Patrick pulled his own shirt back down over his now semi-clean stomach and yanked his pants back on before rolling onto his side and throwing an arm over Pete's back. He pressed his face to Pete’s shoulder and felt the warmth of him. 

“I’d let you do maybe _half_ the things you wanted,” Patrick said. He thought about how he'd been tonight, laying there and letting someone touch him and fuck him. He never allowed that anymore, it always had to be under his terms. Where he had full control. “I think I'm gonna wake up tomorrow and things are gonna be different.”

“Huh?” Pete lifted his head from the pillow to look at Patrick. Patrick touched fingers to Pete’s forehead and stroked him gently. 

“This felt like a milestone to me.”

“Getting your ass eaten?” Pete said, but beyond the joke Patrick could tell he understood what he meant. Patrick nudged closer, arm over Pete and shut his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete opens up about his past and Patrick _finally_ gives up control in the bedroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for this chapter: contains discussion of suicide

Patrick woke up to an empty bed and less of a headache than he'd been dealing with recently. He headed to the shower and cleaned up, trying to focus his head. He wanted Pete, he told himself. He wanted him like a boyfriend and not a toy to control at his whim. Maybe he could stop fighting him, stop shouting him down with snide words every time Pete said something that made him uncomfortable. 

He dried and dressed himself, before shuffling through the apartment to the sound of Pete singing along to the radio. Pete looked up from the stove, poking scrambled eggs with the end of a spatula. He smiled at Patrick, all toothy and white and Patrick hated how it made him feel gooey inside. 

“You know how some people call me a feral bunny,” Patrick said. “Oh and good morning.”

“Morning.” Pete winked and then frowned. “What about feral bunnies?”

“People call me one because I look cute but I'm snappy sometimes,” Patrick said. It was maybe his least favorite nickname. He understood mom and scary godmother. They made him sound caring. 

“That's true,” Pete said. He turned his attention back onto the eggs, dishing them out into two bowls. “Where are you going with this.”

“The thing with bunnies is they're, like, very easily spooked. And when a feral bunny is spooked it bites. I guess I'm just saying that you maybe need to treat me like a spooked feral bunny because I wanna be with you, but I'm scared. And it's mostly to do with my ex-boyfriend because that went really wrong, but I don't want to talk about it again.” 

Pete laughed, just looked at Patrick and straight up laughed. Patrick bit his lip and shrugged, looking in the opposite direction until Pete scurried to his side of the kitchen and pulled him in close. 

“Does my feral bunny need a little scratch behind the ears?” Pete asked, doing exactly that. Patrick was horrified and shoved Pete away. He stumbled over to the eggs, trying to calm himself down.

“I’m just saying that I’m flighty and vicious but only because I’m freaking out,” Patrick insisted. He could look at Pete without blushing, he wasn’t being _that_ lame about it, but his heart was beating fast enough that it felt exciting. It felt good being here with him.

 

Patrick felt like he was in the eye of a tornado, dead center of the honeymoon period with Pete. They headed into the city together after breakfast and Patrick was thinking too many crazy thoughts at once. He didn't feel like the Patrick he knew he was; the one in the tight suits and the bow ties and the wild hair. He didn't feel like the one yapping at guys more famous and higher paid than him. He just felt like a different one, one stripped down to its shell. 

It wouldn't be the same when they were back in LA. Patrick would let the paranoia of Hollywood take over and let it worry at him, at the thought of Pete's career being tarnished with an affair with an average looking guy that also happened to be his agent. It was wrong and unethical, but now, in Chicago, in the middle of a record store, it would work.

“Music will forever be my first love,” Patrick said to Pete, who hadn't yet seen Patrick drunk at midnight singing to Prince on the loudest dial. “Joe and I had these wild visions as kids where I managed him as a rock star. Now I'm in the movie business and he's my PA.”

“You dreamed big,” Pete said. No one recognized him here, not beneath a cap and a dark smattering of stubble lining his face. Patrick liked the look, liked the way he was making him feel lovesick and woozy. Maybe it was the low blood pressure. 

“Too big, but I don't mind. I don't think he does either,” Patrick said. He grabbed at Pete’s hand and pulled him along the racks of records, fingers tracing over the soft cardboard until he was at the used section. They wandered the city like that, Patrick dragging Pete into some stores, Pete doing the same. Patrick felt like a kid, like he did with his first boyfriend all those years ago in High School.

Patrick saw one shop that he wanted to go in without Pete - as a surprise - and he told Pete as such. Pete laughed, but lost himself in a bookstore opposite as Patrick inconspicuously walked away. He was in and out in no time; he had one half of the treat already, but this would seal the deal.

“I really want ice cream,” Patrick said, when they stopped for a break. He still felt like an invalid, having to pause their whirlwind romance so that he didn’t start to feel faint. “Yesterday there was this really cute ice cream parlor. Made me want it.”

“I think ice cream is on your naughty list right now,” Pete said. He had an over-sized Starbucks coffee in his hand and an arm over Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick had sunk into his side, enjoying this one foray into what he’d never get back at home. This felt like an affair, something they were having to hide from unsuspecting partners. Patrick didn't feel dirty with it, just excited.

“I’m feeling better,” Patrick insisted. Every morning he woke up a little more clearer, a little less fuzzy headed. “Slow progress but good progress. Do you really think one ice cream would hurt?”

“I’ll buy you a diabetic Popsicle,” Pete winked. Patrick wasn’t sure what the point in that was, but he didn't argue. He got up too quickly and blinked away the waviness of his eyesight, tugging Pete to his feet.

Patrick got a sugar-free Popsicle that burnt his lips with frost from how cold it had been kept. He didn’t mind. He didn't even say anything when Pete took a photo of him with it, posing with it between his lips. He was certain no photos was one of his rules, but he’d broken so many of them at this point that he couldn’t keep track.

They spent the late afternoon in separate rooms face-timing with both their children. Well, Pete was going through the list of his, the ones between New York and LA. Patrick sat in the bedroom, glaring at Vicky’s gleeful face through the screen of his phone. She didn’t count as a kid of his, but she was acting like a brat right now.

“I heard you passed out at the sight of a fireman kissogram,” she cooed down the line. “Smacked your pretty head open on his fireman’s pole. I know uniforms are your thing.”

“That was one time,” Patrick said, opening himself up to more ridicule as she laughed down the line. Patrick stared at her dark eyebrows, waiting for the laughter to abate. “It’s not funny to laugh at the sick.”

She held her hands up in a truce. “Is Wentz looking after you? Is he a better nurse than actor?”

“That isn't hard,” Patrick said, which was maybe mean but mostly the truth. He didn't hire people to be good actors, he hired them because they got roles. “I like him, Vicky. And I think I’m past the caring about it stage.”

“Well shit. More than just good sex?”

Patrick nodded, even if the sex had been good. “I’m like the bitchiest patient, but he takes it in his stride and he likes to cuddle and he doesn’t complain about Penny at all.” Patrick had even forgiven him for taking him hiking that one time, even if it had nearly killed him at the time. “I won’t scare myself with it. I just thought you should know.”

“Too right I should know. Now I'm the only single one left.” She sounded annoyed and she probably was a little bit, but it didn't matter. Patrick would still go to strip clubs with her and stare at topless men, if he _had_ to. He caught up with Joe, who promised things were going well back home. He said Patrick looked happy and so Patrick flipped him off. He deserved it.

Pete must’ve been talking to one of his younger kids by the tone of his voice when Patrick walked into the living room. He stayed out of sight of the camera, and bustled in the kitchenette instead. This apartment was so nice, Patrick wanted to live here forever, or at least a few months of the year. It would be good to be so close to his hometown; away from the stale glamour of LA and the stalkerish scripts and threats that had been building.

He'd been thinking about them more and more. At first he’d passed them off as something silly; something to roll his eyes at, but he was nervous when he thought about things further. It was probably a rabid fan of one of his clients, thinking he was getting too close to their favored actor. Patrick had to keep reminding himself it couldn’t be about Pete because he received the first one on the day Pete had shown up in his office. They knew about him, but it wasn't about him.

“Earth to FB.” Patrick blinked as fingers clicked in his face. Pete was standing there laughing at him. Patrick smiled back, hands on Pete’s shoulders and ignoring the crappy nickname that had flown past him.

“Sorry,” Patrick said. He leaned in because he could, and kissed him because he wanted to. “My kids are behaving. Are yours?”

“All golden. Apart from the oldest. I’m having a movie night and dinner with her and her mom tomorrow night. Sounds like they want to tell me something.” Pete’s brow furrowed as his hands flattened against Patrick’s back. When he looked at Patrick, he looked sheepish. “Is that cool with you?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Patrick would be jealous if the situation called for it, but Pete seeing his daughter and ex-wife when they had been the reason for his trip in the first place, wasn’t one of them. He was used to being alone anyway. “I’m not gonna get in the way of your family.”

“Thank you,” Pete said plainly. He stroked Patrick’s hair, smiling at it fondly. “Your roots are growing in.”

“Maybe I should go natural for a bit.” It wasn't too much of a difference, but he was scared of the implication in his own tone, as if it was something like stripping himself back to basics.

Patrick found _Arma Angelus_ playing on one of the billion channels that Pete had later that night. He hadn't seen it in years, and Pete cringed when Patrick insisted they watched it. Patrick thought Pete did a good job showing the degradation and darkness as the character fell into a pit of despair. Patrick was a sucker for a happy ending and this movie consisted of nothing but darkness for the characters. As the credits rolled, Pete’s humorous cringe and self-deprecating comments had turned to a quiet sadness.

“Does it remind you of the past?” Patrick asked, stroking a hand over Pete’s chest. Maybe this had been a bad movie choice, but Pete had promised to open up to Patrick himself tonight. Pete looked at him and nodded.

“You're a control freak because you’re afraid of anyone getting close,” Pete said without an accusatory tone, mostly like a statement. Patrick still frowned, but nodded his head. He was a control freak anyway, it just turned darker in romance. “I feel like I’m one too, but I kinda. Like. You know in movies where people sell their souls to the devil? If control was my soul then that’s what I did.”

“You're saying a lot without saying anything,” Patrick said softly, trying to understand. He rested his hand on Pete’s chest, feeling his steady heartbeat.

“I was a dad at seventeen, I got a scholarship on my soccer ability, but then I went and got myself injured and I got spotted in a college production. I got taken to Hollywood, put in this dumb TV show about teenagers that didn't feel anything like me. To fit in you have to mold yourself. You know how it goes. I never fit the mold, I never felt like I should be there as an actor. I wasn't an actor, I was some little girl’s father and that’s all.” Pete stopped talking when frustration took over. Patrick didn't say anything. “So I cut bits of myself off to fit in. I gave up control and autonomy to be what people wanted, found people that wanted to be my friend because I had money and access to whatever they wanted. When you cut off that much of yourself it’s hard to put yourself back together. It got too much, when the roles stopped coming in and the parties stopped being fun. I had kids that I forgot to see and family that were humiliated by my existence. I got boring even to the gossip columns.”

“You don't have to tell me if you don't want,” Patrick offered, but he knew where this was going, and it hurt, deep down into his soul.

“I had it all planned out, had it planned out for months at that point. Two stages of death; pills, then razor and then nothing, that order and nothing else. Nothing felt like bliss back then, only thoughts of letting go. Someone found me between the stages, not long after I'd taken the pills. I ended up in hospital. Like, you know. The loony bin.”

“Did it help?”

“Therapy helped. Having a support network,” Pete said. His eyes were wet, but Patrick didn't want to make a big deal about it if Pete didn't want him too. “Like, I love all my ex wives, I swear I do, but man. My childhood fucking sweetheart, who I stupidly knocked up at sixteen, she’s the one that helped me again. She knew me as the kid with the scholarship and I think she still saw it in me. She came to visit me whenever she could at the hospital and let me crash at her place to recover. When I headed back to LA to sort my career out, I found that nothing had changed down there. The people I thought were my friends were just there for the party. None had text, none had visited me in the hospital. My agent had got me one job in that time, in a fucking painkiller commercial.”

“Thank God you fired them,” Patrick said. Honestly, there was little he hated more than incompetent talent agents. Maybe listening to Pete talk of his darkness matched it now.

“That was all like just over a year ago. This whole past year has just been a fucking rollercoaster of a rebirth. Getting back in touch with who I want to be,” Pete said. His eyes were red, but he was smiling at Patrick. “I hope that doesn't change the way you feel about me.”

“Why would it? I’m not called mom just because I nag people to death, it’s because I’m actually really good at looking after people. You’re looking after me right now, but mostly because I worked myself to sickness for people that needed it. You’re not any different. I would take care of you. If you need me to, I can look after you. No matter what.” Pete was different to Gabe and Ryan, but Patrick couldn’t say it. 

“Have you ever tried?” Patrick wanted to say no to Pete’s question, but he couldn’t lie, not at a time like this.

“I entertained thoughts when I was a teenager, but not really. Not unless you count being a literal doormat for my ex, when he could've been bringing all kinds of deadly diseases back from his drug-fueled gang-bangs. I think that counts more as self-harm. That was always my game.”

“What are we, huh?” Pete said. He rubbed a hand over his face, still not crying, but looking like he was wiped from it all. 

“Two sorry souls.” Patrick rubbed at Pete’s chest, like he was trying to heal whatever pain was inside. He couldn't take it away just like Pete couldn’t fix the mess of Patrick’s self-sabotaging trust issues. “We’re alright. We’re gonna be just fine.”

Patrick sent Pete away for a hot shower to clear his mind and he thought things through alone. It hadn't really changed things for Patrick, maybe there was a little more clarity; Pete’s talk of his dark times coming to light. Patrick had more empathy than he ever let anyone see and he cried for Pete, a little bit, before he figured it was dumb. Pete hadn't let the tears fall and it was his despair he’d been talking about. Patrick dried his eyes and drank some water, ate an apple. He rubbed at his forehead, hissing when he touched the still-sore stitches on his head. 

Loss of control had been the price Pete had paid for fame,and Patrick was so terrified of losing it himself. He told himself he’d already handed Pete the reigns the night before; had let him take photos of him when he’d asked him not to. He’d come here with him, trusted Pete enough to go with him and not fight it. 

Patrick followed Pete into the bedroom when he heard him leave the bathroom. He stood in the doorway to fathom Pete’s reaction silently before walking in. Pete was wiping a towel over his face, but he looked okay, opening his arms for Patrick.

“Are you feeling any better?” Patrick asked, touching his hands to Pete's bare sides. His skin was damp, hot from the shower. He still hadn't shaved his face, but Patrick secretly liked it. 

“I am,” Pete said smiling. “Better for telling you, actually. Feels like relief.” 

“Good.” Patrick pushed Pete down onto the bed and sat across him. “Then it's time for my treat for you.”

“I get a treat.” Pete's hand held Patrick close, and it was really a huge turn-on to have Pete naked beneath him and still be clothed, that Pete was confident enough that he didn't care. “What kind of treat?”

“You can have control. For tonight. You were out of control for a long time and you deserve to have it back. And I think maybe I kinda need to learn to trust you with it too. So you can have it.”

“You wouldn't be you if you were submissive,” Pete pointed out, hands on Patrick's face. 

“I didn't say anything about being submissive,” Patrick laughed. “Just… complicit and willing to do what you want. There's something else in it for you.”

“It’s panties, isn't it?” Pete was grinning and Patrick simply shrugged. 

“Don't make my kink about you,” Patrick told him sliding from his lap. “There's something you will enjoy even more. I promise. Just sit there and wait for me okay?” Patrick slid out the room and into the bathroom. Penny was looking at him curiously from her spot in the hallway and Patrick blew her a quick kiss before he closed the door behind him.

He'd stashed what he bought earlier behind a large pile of towels and picked it up now. He contemplated what he was doing, but Pete had been all for it the night before. Patrick had been surprised at the tacky looking sex shop earlier, he didn't really think of them existing anymore since the internet. He'd never really been inside one.

He figured if he was going to buy himself a butt plug then he wanted it to be fancy. He had some at home, but they'd always been something to play around with when he was in a relationship and he hadn't been in one in so long now. This one was shaped like a rose, the pink glass flower going inside his body, the green stem and flared base nudging against his ass. It was half garish, half kind of cute. If he was going to go all out, he wanted to do it in style. Patrick had wanted something more interesting than black or steel and glass felt better to him anyway. 

He dropped his pants and found some lube that Pete weirdly kept in the bathroom. Maybe he just enjoyed shower sex. He pressed fingers inside of himself, remembering how Pete had touched him the night before. He was still a little sensitive from that. Maybe if he tried being more verse he wouldn't have this issue, but he liked it too much; having control but being the one that got fucked. It had been such a long time since he'd had so much regular sex, he was getting accustomed to it. 

Patrick smeared lube over the head of the rosebud plug and pressed it between his legs. He held it there for a moment, feeling the cool glass against his hot skin, letting it slowly breach and stretch him open before it slid inside with a silent popping sound. He shuddered, not able to close around it. It was different to a dick, harder with no resistance. Patrick had to just stand there and breath for a bit. He walked across the small space of the bathroom and tried not to moan with every step. It shifted, nudged against his prostate. 

That was for Pete. The next thing was for himself, and yeah, okay. _Also_ for Pete. Patrick was so accommodating these days. Maybe the knock on the head had done something to him. The panties he had were old, but lightly worn. Red plaid, with a keyhole at the back and a big black bow on top of it. Patrick always found them slightly tacky, but his ex had bought them for him and they were always a fun wear. Made a change from the lace too.

He put the panties on, choking out a gasp when the plug shifted again. He wasn't going to last long and that was disappointing. Maybe he should have built up to this, but whatever. This was for Pete, he kept telling himself. He'd get some enjoyment out of it. Patrick kept his t-shirt on for the time being and it covered him enough for the surprise.

Pete was laying naked on the bed with his phone out when Patrick approached. He started to record as Patrick came into the room and Patrick didn't stop him, even as he stumbled over to the bed. He was squeezing tight tight tight.

“Is my surprise hiding under that shirt of yours?” Pete said, directing the camera at Patrick kneeling on the bed. Patrick lifted his shirt at the phone, flashing the panties and pouting for the camera before he grabbed the phone, stopping the recording and tossing it aside.

“No more phones,” Patrick said, crawling over to Pete. He tried not to let it show, as he reached him. He was going to straddle him, but that would be too much for his plugged ass right now, so he kneeled between Pete’s legs instead, smirking at him. “Explore me.”

“Fuck.” Pete said, sounding excited. He sat up, so he was kneeling against Patrick, their knees touching, before his hands skimmed Patrick’s shirt, lifting it up. Patrick dutifully held his arms up, so Pete could remove it. Then he was there, in nothing but his panties. 

“Check you out in your punk panties,” Pete said. He was smiling wide, hands touching the ruffled sides. Patrick was hard already, dampening the panties and Pete could tell. “I think I want a pair.”

That made Patrick laugh, stupidly. And the laughter made him choke out a moan. Pete caught him this time, looking confused. The fear he'd normally feel at having someone else take control was lessened as he let the feeling of what was happening inside take over. He let Pete touch him, over the panties, squeezing him. He pulled Patrick in for a deep kiss, and Patrick was so busy dealing with sucking Pete's tongue into his mouth that he didn't notice Pete's hand slide around his back until it was too late. He squeezed Patrick's ass through the panties, spreading him. His finger must've hit the base of the plug because he noticed. He stopped kissing and looked at Patrick curiously.

Patrick wanted it to happen so he didn't fight it when Pete spun him around and pushed him down, flat on his face. Patrick pushed his hips up, rear in the air. It wouldn't take long for him to come, not at all. Patrick heard the sound of Pete's phone again, and caught him taking a few photos. 

“I’ll delete,” Pete promised. “I just want some evidence of this for a while.”

“Fine.” Patrick said. His thoughts were too much on other things to care. He'd just stand over Pete and watch him delete it later. He felt Pete's hands on his panties, touching the waistband, touching the black bow before he tugged them down a few inches. Patrick felt exposed beyond his control and it scared him briefly before he pushed past it. Pete tugged the panties down further until his ass was exposed, the bow tucking against the underside. 

“You know how to treat me well,” Pete said. His voice was lost and when he leaned closer, his hard dick brushed Patrick's thigh. He flicked the base of the plug and Patrick gasped. 

“I haven't worn one in a while,” Patrick managed to say. “Don't go too hard on me.”

“But you have worn one before?” Pete asked. Patrick looked over his shoulder as Pete twisted the base. 

“I’m not a fucking virgin, you idiot,” Patrick said, dissolving into dickishness again, but only because Pete was twisting the base of the plug. His fingers curled into the bed-sheets, but he didn’t give Pete any kind of apology. “Glass is the best. Steel is second best, anything is better than silicone.”

“You’re feisty even when it comes to goddamn sex toys.” Pete laughed in Patrick’s ear, biting down on the shell. He was leaning his full weight on top of him, the weight of his body pressing Patrick down into the bed. His dick was a hot touch against Patrick’s ass. He rocked down, hips against Patrick, pressing the plug further into Patrick. It was intense and Patrick’s head was clouding. He felt lightheaded, but not like he normally did. It was heady, like it was all Pete.

Pete pulled back so he was no longer against Patrick and it made a cool breeze flutter over Patrick’s bare skin. It made him shiver, made him press his face into the sheets below him. His hands were on Patrick, on his ass, over the small of his back. Patrick let him touch and said nothing. He tried to just feel it, Pete’s hands, moving over him before tugging on the plug in his ass.

Patrick gasped as there was a slow drag, a delicious dark pull of the plug breaking from the snug fit of his body. Pete pulled it so it was nearly all the way out before shoving it back in again. He did this three times, painfully slow. Patrick rocked his hips to the bed, humping down, aware that Pete was seeing something so intimate. His hands were still fisted into the covers and he wasn’t going to last.

He pulled it all the way out and rested it against Patrick’s tail-bone briefly. It was warm from his own body. He could feel that his body was shuddering, trying to cope with the sudden lack of nothing to clench around. He push his hips back, hoping for either the plug or Pete’s dick. He needed to come, needed to come with something in his body. He wouldn't allow himself to beg because he’d always be better than that.

Pete fussed around him for a while. Patrick turned his head, because he was starting to lose the anticipation. Pete was digging through the nightstand. Patrick knew what the issue was and was too wired to wait anymore. Maybe he would become a beggar if he had to wait any longer.

“Just pull out,” Patrick said, and then turned around so he didn't have to see Pete’s response. Probably excited, maybe a little confused. Patrick didn’t really care at this point. He just wanted Pete, however he could have him. Lube was pooling out of Patrick’s ass, dribbling down between his legs and so Pete didn't need to add anymore. He straddled Patrick’s legs and sunk inside in one go. Patrick felt the length of his dick, pushed further in that the plug had. All of Pete’s weight was on top of him, pressing down. His hands slid over Patrick’s arms until his fingers were curling over the tops of Patrick’s palms, squeezing down between the knuckles.

Pete’s knees were by Patrick’s hips, scrabbling on the bedding as he shifted his movements. With each thrust, his pelvis pressed down into the softness of Patrick’s ass, all the weight pushing down onto Patrick, his dick as deep as it could possibly be.

“Are you okay?” Pete’s voice was gentle, his nose nudging behind Patrick’s ear. Patrick nodded his head. He was…okay. The sex was good, but too intense for him to really be able to say how he was dealing with it mentally. Patrick’s body was being used and he was enjoying it. Usually it felt like the other way around, a dick was there just for his pleasure, but now he just felt like a wet hole for Pete, somewhere tight and easy. His dick was hard, no longer constrained in his panties and it was rubbing against the bed as Pete fucked him.

Patrick hadn’t been fucked bareback in such a long while. It was hotter, even if he had convinced himself over the years that rubber was best. It felt dirtier, and this was the dirtiest sex he’d had in a good while. He was being pounded down into a bed; literally fucked through a mattress with his hands pinned down and his dick trapped between his belly and the bed. 

Patrick came without any warning. He’d felt close to it for such a long time, ever since he’d slid the plug inside. He just shuddered and bit down into the sheets, looking at his pinned hands with blurred eyes. Pete was moaning behind him, saying stuff about Patrick feeling _so tight_ and _fucking feel your bare ass._

When he’d finished coming Patrick just laid there and waited for Pete. If he wasn't being pinned and pressed down he’d still be frozen anyway. It was that good and overwhelming, he just laid there as Pete controlled everything, fucking Patrick’s ass. It hurt, Patrick was sensitive, but he wanted to feel it and when he could sense that Pete was getting close to coming he didn't try and push him off. He just shut his eyes as Pete started to come inside him, mouth sucking at Patrick’s neck. There’d be a mark, probably. Patrick hadn’t had to deal with hickeys in so long.

Patrick didn't like it when Pete left his body and slid off him. His ass was sore as anything and he felt the telltale dribble of come leaking between his thighs as he turned over. His plaid panties were shoved halfway down his thighs at this point and he pulled them off all the way, moaning in pain. He felt like such a slut and he told Pete as such, looking over at him. 

“I didn't mean to come inside you,” Pete was saying when he recovered. His voice sounded soft, husky from the choked moans he’d been giving off. “You’re not a slut. I mean, unless you want me to call you one. Then, you know, you’re totally a slut.”

“I am.” Patrick laughed and even that hurt his muscles. He tried to sit up, but that kind of continued the work that gravity was having on his body. “That was intense.”

“Thank you.” Pete was saying. He curled up over Patrick, bringing him in close, holding him tight. Patrick needed to be held and he knew that Pete needed something to hold onto too. He figured he might be in shock from what they’d done. Patrick tucked his head to Pete’s neck and wondered how lame it would make him if he straight up cried a little. That’s almost what he felt like doing. 

“I will make you pay for coming inside me, but for now we can hug it out,” Patrick said. His own voice was worn down to a raspy softness and if Pete felt tears against his skin, he never said anything.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick regrettably allows his mother and Pete to meet, and he's introduced to one-fifth of Pete's offspring.

Patrick was tired when he woke up. Completely exhausted in the way he’d been when he first came out of hospital. Every day since then had been an improvement, but he could barely keep his eyes open now. He sat up all the same and stared at Pete laying next to him in bed, playing on his phone.

“They want me to meet my beard,” Pete said, when he noticed Patrick staring. “I said I’m on vacation for two weeks, but they’re insisting she flies out to meet me.”

“Is that what you want?” Patrick said, falling back down onto the bed again. He arched his back and hissed. Everything hurt and it was all Pete’s fault. “She’s not moving in here too, right?”

“I’ll put her up in a hotel, I guess. I dunno, Patrick. This is supposed to be about us.”

“This is supposed to be about me getting better and you seeing your daughter,” Patrick said, because he was feeling extra snide. He felt bad when Pete didn't say anything, like Patrick had upset him. He opened his eyes as best as he could, and looked at Pete’s puppy face. “One afternoon out of our time won’t hurt things here, and it might be better meeting her in a cafe or something…somewhere that’s different for you both. If you like her, call me and I can call some paparazzo to come take your photo. Make it authentic.”

“I know you’re right. I just don't wanna do it,” Pete admitted. He leaned over to Patrick and kissed his cheek. “You seem particularly grumpy today. What’s the matter?”

“You fucked my ass so hard last night that I actually think I’m sicker than I was when I turned up here. I literally don’t think I’ll make it out of bed I feel so tired.”

“That is awesome,” Pete boasted briefly, before sucking in a breath. “Or is it not awesome? Did you like it last night?”

“It was new. Again. I don't know, it’s hard to process,” Patrick admitted, though his eyes had shut and he was starting to slur his words. “Gave you a good time for telling me about your bad time, right?”

“Right,” Pete said, and he may have said even more, but Patrick was passing out to sleep almost immediately. 

 

Patrick didn't wake up until like three thirty, but he felt better for it. He washed up and dressed himself again and took slow steps to where he could hear Pete watching TV. If he was being honest, he was still sore from the night before and the groggy headache hadn’t shifted, but at least his eyes were open now.

“I'm awake from the dead,” Patrick said, sitting beside Pete. It hurt, and so he jammed Pete’s side with his elbow. “I'm not having sex with you for at least three days. That shit hurt last night.”

“Shit was I too rough?” Pete immediately sprung to bad thoughts, touching Patrick's shoulder with worried eyes. Patrick looked at him and smiled softly.

“Never too rough, I like it,” he admitted, just to soothe Pete. “Just maybe too much when I'm kinda weak. I feel better in myself, really.”

“Oh good, that’s good,” Pete said. He pressed his head against Patrick's briefly before letting out a heavy sigh. “They’re flying my beard out tomorrow, want me to meet her.”

“That gets it over and done with, I guess,” Patrick said, into Pete’s hair. “It won't be as bad as you think. I handled a few when I worked PR. You’ll probably get on, she’s probably more nervous than you.”

“I don't get how you're not jealous,” Pete said sitting up. He looked down at Patrick, like he was trying really hard to work things out.

“Maybe I would be jealous if you didn't sound so miserable about the entire thing,” Patrick laughed. “I have better things to do than be jealous.”

“Like sit on your sore ass and try not to pass out?” Pete teased, and Patrick was way too tired to argue about it so he just fell against him and huffed.

Pete left at five to go spend time with his kid. Patrick was looking forward to a night of no interaction, just him and Penny like it usually was back at home. He ate a large helping of soup, something fresh looking and healthy, even if it came from a carton. Then he watched half a movie before becoming bored and drawing himself a bath. Penny followed him from room to room, and Patrick felt bad for how he’d abandoned her a little lately. 

He’d just sunk down into the gently popping bubbles when his phone started ringing from the soap dish. He sighed, lifting up from the deep warm pool and saw Joe’s face pop up on the screen. He lifted his wet hand from the bath and just about managed to answer and press speaker phone.

“What is it?” he asked,sitting back again and shutting his eyes. “How are things?”

“Where are you? You sound weird.”

“I’m in the bath,” Patrick said. “Just about to indulge myself when you rang.”

“Pete’s not in there with you, is he?” Joe asked, lowering his voice to a whisper, just in case he was.

“He’s out with his daughter. Why?”

“I just didn't want to interrupt any sexy naked time,” Joe laughed. “So if you’re free I can rant to you, right?”

“Rant away,” Patrick laughed, suddenly missing Joe. How long had it been since they'd gone more than two days of seeing each other? Patrick was a workaholic and Joe was always there behind him, making sure he didn't fuck up too much. “Are my babies being dicks?”

“If you’re the mom, then I think I’m the weekend Dad having them over for sleepover. It's fucking hell. They’re playing up, Patrick.”

“Who is?” Patrick asked. Gabe should be well-behaved right now. Gerard didn't seem to care about anything but his comics and they were the two peak drama queens.

“Well, like. Gerard had an audition, which he agreed to do, but then he threw a piss-fit because he’s still mad about Batman. William keeps claiming that modeling is more important than acting right now, but then he gets whiny that he hasn’t been getting the same offers that he did before. He can't keep turning them down, but he says I don't understand. They don't listen to me like they do you.”

“That’s because they see you as a comrade not a boss,” Patrick said. “Maybe I should call them u—”

“No, I don't want to cut into your time off, Patrick.” Joe suddenly cut in. Maybe he was trying to prove to Patrick that he could do this, but it was probably more about making sure Patrick stayed stress free. “Just thought I’d rage to you, ‘cause you understand.”

“I do, but maybe it’s time daddy set some ground rules. Tell them you have my permission to fire them at any opportunity, that usually scares them,” Patrick said. He hadn't ever fired any client of his. He’d worked with Brendon for a while, but he moved into the theater world and they parted amicably. Patrick could not cope with theater kid clients _no thank you._ He liked to be the biggest drama queen in the room.

“I may have to fall to those tactics,” Joe admitted, and Patrick felt bad. He probably should have pushed his clients onto other agents at the agency, but it was too late for that now. “How are things your end?”

“I’m doing better,” Patrick admitted, licking his lips and wondering how much to divulge. “I was doing better but then, uh, sex and stuff had me exhausted. Think I pushed things too hard last night and I slept the day away.”

“At least you’re getting some. That’s about as helpful as I can be,” Joe said, but whatever. Patrick had had to listen to Joe’s drunken slurs about his sex life on some nights. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

“The thought of that makes me feel sick.” Patrick could feel his heart racing at the thought, at putting himself into that vulnerable position again. “I told him what happened, and I think he understands why I am the way I am a little better. I’m in a sticky web if this goes wrong though. It feels deeper than I thought it would.”

“That’s normal,” Joe said, but what did he know? He’d been with Marie since they were nineteen. “He’s seen you at your most painfully sassiest, if that didn't scare him off then I think you’re good.”

“Maybe.” Patrick frowned, feeling sick from the conversation. “I can’t turn soft on my clients though. I wouldn’t lose that side even if I was nicer to him.”

“You wouldn’t need to. Take a chill pill, Pat. You’re fun. I’ll leave you to your bathtub, alright? I’ll threaten the kids on your orders next time.” Joe hung up and Patrick sunk down into his bath, trying to let go of the anxiety in his stomach.

The worst part was how the anxiety faded whenever he was with Pete. Patrick knew what that meant, that it was the fucking love-bug. He just smiled at Pete sleepily from the bed as Pete clambered onto the other side, looking fraught and a little angry. Patrick wanted to hug and snuggle down for the night, but he fought through it.

“What’s the matter?” he asked instead, hand on Pete’s tight shoulder. 

“She wants to move to LA to start her career,” Pete said through gritted teeth. Patrick had no actual experience with teenagers so just patted his shoulder and tried to think of the best way to approach things.

“Career in what?”

“She sings. I dunno, she’s good. She does some local festivals but she’s only eighteen. That is way, way too young.” It wasn't too young for a young girl in the music industry, but Patrick didn't mention that.

“What kind of music?” Patrick asked, but when Pete snapped his glare onto him he backed away instead. “Okay, um. Well, what does her mom say?”

“That they’ll move together. That if this really what she wants then we should support her. I can’t believe she wants this when she saw what I went through.”

“Maybe she’s thinking if she’s there it will be different, and with both of you looking after her.” Patrick was winging the conversation, figuring calming Pete down was probably his only option.

“It isn’t like that, Patrick. The music industry is just as bad as our one. I don't want her out at parties, in the scene doing God knows what with—”

“Alright, okay.” Patrick shushed him, palms on Pete’s shoulders. “Then maybe come up with a compromise. Like, they move to LA but she stays in High School...if she hasn't graduated yet. Maybe get a job behind the scenes to start out. I don’t know… think of it as a positive, she’ll be closer to you, closer to your other kids. Then only one of them lives out of state.”

“I really don’t want her going down that path, Patrick,” Pete whispered, looking at Patrick with his worried brown eyes. Patrick stroked between his eyebrows and nodded his head, like he understood. “She’s old enough to realize the effect it had on me.”

“But she’ll have her parents reigning her in. Not that it’s any consolation, but the music industry is kinder than the movie one. The girls I work with can barely get a foot in the door and I have Saporta and Way on my books and they’re basically starved half to death.”

“I never think about your women clients,” Pete said, flicking away briefly from his anger.

“That’s because they behave themselves unlike the men,” Patrick said. He did not understand parenting or teenage drama, but he figured he’d done okay here. “If her mom’s agreed to move to LA for your daughter, she clearly has talent.”

“I think I’m biased,” Pete said, but his body had softened from the tense hold of before and he just sighed happily as Patrick tucked himself down against Pete. One child drama successfully averted. 

Patrick was feeling much clearer headed the next morning. Pete had been nervously pacing, coffee to his lips as he waited for word that his fake girlfriend was ready to meet up. Patrick watched him from the kitchen table, swirling yogurt with a spoon. What the issue was, Patrick didn’t know, and when he asked, Pete just grumbled a response.

“Just relax. Have fun. It's not like you're actually going to have to sleep with her,” Patrick said. “I guess it's like online dating. But without the pressure of being attracted to each other.”

“But what if she does like me? Like, maybe too much?” Pete said, turning his dark eyes to Patrick sucking yogurt from his spoon. Patrick shrugged his shoulders and swallowed his mouthful before answering.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to let her down gently, but your team won't just hire a girl off the streets. She’ll have been briefed. It’s better if you like her, makes it seem more natural.” Patrick pushed his bowl away and stood up. Patrick kissed Pete, half to calm him down, half to let him know he’s cool with this. “I'm in the business too, Pete. I know how this goes. Just keep me in the loop.”

“I wish it was cool to be out with my agent,” Pete joked, but his hands were on Patrick’s shoulders, softening over him. “What are you doing today?”

“I think I'm gonna go see my mom,” Patrick said, though he didn't like the sound of it the moment he said it. He hadn't been back home in three years and things had changed since then. “I'm not sure who needs more luck today, but I'm sure we’ll both get out of it okay.”

“You don't get on with your mom?” Pete questioned, but Patrick shrugged, not wanting to answer.

“I’ve just left it a long time. Nothing serious,” he said, dusting a kiss onto Pete's lips again.

Patrick could have called a cab to pick him up outside Pete's apartment, it’s what Pete wanted, who was still borderline fussing over Patrick's health, but Patrick was dead-set against it. He spent so much of his life in the back of a car, making calls, sending emails, and that wasn’t Chicago for him.

Getting the train back to Glenview took him back ten years, as a late teen, traveling out of the ‘burbs with Joe or sometimes with a hidden, long-forgotten boyfriend that his mom didn’t know about. Trains held secrets, a cabin of strangers, all going somewhere different, but held together for those few moments and he’d always liked that. Patrick sat opposite an older lady now, Penny tucked quietly on his lap as he stared out the window. He hadn’t caught the train back to his hometown in years now, but it was achingly familiar. Glenview hadn’t changed. 

It was only a ten minute walk from the station to his mom’s house, but Patrick dawdled. He sucked water from the bottle he’d packed, and let Penny stop and sniff every neatly trimmed patch of lawn that they came across. Soon enough he was standing in front of his old home. Nothing had changed much from the outside; just the roses had grown a little fuller.

She wasn’t home, but that didn’t matter. He found the spare key beneath the clay vase he’d made her about twenty years ago. The paint had faded with time, but his name in thick black messy lines remained on the underside. He grabbed the keys and placed the vase down again before letting himself inside.

The house was empty and silent, barely redecorated since he’d been a teenager, just a re-papering of a similar silver wallpaper across the hallway. He felt lost in too many suffocating memories as he walked the small living room. He went over to her media display and saw the printed magazine article of Pete's propped up behind the glass. The parts where he was mentioned was highlighted in orange pen. 

He sat in the living room for a while, Penny curled up beside him, wet nose snuffling at the unfamiliar couch. Patrick’s eyes blurred at the photos on the wall, him and his siblings as young children; dressed for Halloweens and weddings and every other awkward photo imaginable. 

He found his way into the kitchen a little while later. He opened cupboards to fight off boredom. Lots of herbs, a shelf filled with canned fruit. Patrick laughed to himself, maybe he’d inherited that. He made himself a sandwich, peanut butter and jelly because he felt enough like a kid back at his mom’s house that he may as well eat like one too.

When the door finally opened, Penny launched from the kitchen to start yapping at Patrick’s mom. Patrick heard his mom’s panicked voice at the sight of an unfamiliar dog, but he remained sitting at the kitchen table until she walked through.

“Patrick,” She said, looking him in shock. Her eyes scanned his face, his hair, and his clothes before the half eaten sandwich in front of him. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm in town for a few weeks, thought I'd come over,” Patrick said. Penny had calmed down and was snuffling around at Patrick’s feet instead. She dropped into the seat beside him, and touched his hand like she wasn't sure he was real. He'd left it a long time. “Sorry I never came back.”

“Why not?”

“I just couldn’t,” Patrick shrugged his shoulder. The last time he’d been _home_ he’d brought his boyfriend back for Christmas, third time in a row. Then they’d broken up and Patrick had changed himself up. “I didn't mean to be a dick.”

“Don’t cuss.” She touched his hair, the white blonde bleach job that she didn't look too impressed with. She pushed it back and sucked in a breath at the gash on his forehead. It was bruised around the sutures and it itched, but he felt like he was healing. “What happened?”

“I had an accident and hit my head, it isn't anything to worry about. I'm taking time off to heal up,” he said, it sounded like lies to him, even if it wasn’t. Sounded like an excuse.

“Did someone hurt you? Jesus, Patrick. You don't look like yourself. The hair and the clothes.” Patrick looked down at himself. It was in a shirt of Pete’s under a zip up hoodie that wasn't his either. Joe’s maybe. It was too long in the sleeves. 

“No one hurt me but myself. I stopped looking after myself and I got sick, but I'm getting better. Just figured it was time to get myself back home.”

“You can stay here,” she insisted, but he was shaking his head. 

“I’m staying with a friend in the city.”

“Just a friend?” she smirked. Her eyes were the same blue as his and they sparkled in delight at the question. Patrick just shrugged, looking down.

“Not just a friend,” Patrick said, thankful when she stopped asking anymore questions. He stayed seated as she started to scurry around, putting the shopping away, and filling him in on his siblings that he admittedly rarely saw. 

“You never explained what happened, why you dropped off the planet,” she said later. She had removed his half eaten sandwich and replaced it with a slice of sticky carrot cake and a glass of milk. Patrick wasn’t five anymore and he wasn’t supposed to be eating cake, but he didn't have the heart to tell her otherwise. 

“I didn't take the breakup well, I guess. Or I just removed myself from feeling anything else. Changed the way I looked and worked myself into the ground, but I'm out at the other side now. Maybe.” Patrick shrugged. “It was a lot to get over.”

“I liked him. It was a pity.”

“He’s a drug addict that cheated on me with enough people to fill a stadium.” Patrick had never explained anything to her because it was embarrassing and he didn't want everyone knowing his shit. She was silent afterward and Patrick felt bad because, well, she was his mom. 

“You’re working hard though. I watched the new _Bond_ movie for Gabe Saporta. Interesting choice, I'm not sure it worked,” she teased and he shrugged, glad she was able to move past their last conversation. 

“Not every experiment works,” Patrick shrugged, but he smiled at her and she smiled back.

Patrick tried to stick to safer options in conversation afterward, like his mom's social activities and what his aunt did with her settlement money. It was boring and monotonous but it made him feel like a better son. He wasn’t always so awful to everyone. 

“So who is he then?” she asked after the cake, the glass of milk and two sweet teas. Patrick's mouth felt syrupy as he downed some water instead of looking at his mom. “Someone from Chicago or LA.”

“He’s originally from here. He’s an actor, but he’s visiting family and asked if I'd come along because I was taking time off. It's not serious, not yet.” Patrick realized that was kind of a lie, what with all the opening up they’d done with each other. 

“It's Pete Wentz isn't it?” Patrick choked on his water when she guessed correctly. “You were in the hotel room when Pete had that interview. Why else would you be there?”

“Because I’m his agent,” Patrick said plainly. Then he shrugged. There was no point in lying. “He’s a good guy.”

“Sounds like he couldn’t be worse than the last,” she said. She looked at him all sad and he supposed he owed her like a dozen fancy-ass flower bouquets to make up for the distance he’d put between them both. Maybe she knew why he’d done it, that it was a weird shame, that his happiness had been ruined and he’d been too stupid and blinded to stop it.

 

Pete was back at the apartment by the time Patrick made his slow way back from his mom’s. Pete was in good spirits, talking at Patrick like he hadn't been the one adamant it would be a mess. He liked her, she was funny and awkward, and not his type whatsoever, so it was the best of both worlds.

Patrick sat bedside him, indulging Pete's enthusiasm with soft nods to his head and gentle inputs of encouragement when he felt the time was right. He placed his hand on Pete's stomach, beneath the shirt. He touched dark hair and warm skin as he leaned in for a kiss, to calm the frantic talking.

“What happens next?” Patrick asked, but he knew everything had probably already been sorted out. PR could do their job; have Pete's entire relationship planned and plotted out. 

“There was paparazzi at the airport as I met her, all arranged beforehand. I guess there will be photos, but I make a habit not to Google myself anymore,” Pete said. He touched Patrick's face, swooping hair away to stare at forehead. “Your gash is all bruised and gross looking. That means it’s healing.”

“It feels better. I feel better,” Patrick said. He felt better here with Pete, locked in the apartment. It made him weak, but he didn’t care.

“How did it go?” Pete asked, hand now stroking behind Patrick's ear. It felt good, made him drop his head to the side, towards Pete's touch.

“She hated my haircut, my clothes and was horrified at the state of my health, but she forgave me for being a terrible son so that’s good,” Patrick said. He grimaced and pulled a face, leaning towards Pete's ear for the next part. “She fed me a ton of cake and sugar. Don’t tell my doctors.”

Pete laughed easily. Lazy. “I won’t. Bet you’re not a bad son, either.”

“I hid from my problems _and_ my mom. For years. That’s terrible.” Patrick was letting so much of his softness out at Pete. These were conversations he’d have with Joe when he was drunk on the brutal stuff at three in the morning. 

“That is kind of shitty,” Pete admitted, but he put his arms over Patrick and pulled him in.

They spent the next day together. It felt like they hadn't seen much of each other at all in the past few days and Patrick was feeling good. He was lost in happy thoughts, the two of them in a jumble of each other's clothes. His cut was itching, pulling tight at his skin but Pete kissed it whenever Patrick started to prod and rub at it.

They walked Penny through parks, never holding hands, but standing close enough that their knuckles brushed. Patrick had missed it, the intimacy that he’d pushed away since his failure of a relationship. At one point they drank coffee outside of a bistro as Patrick read an email on his phone, forwarded from Joe.

“There’s talk growing about your performance in Pride and Prejudice. It’s getting good buzz. There’s Golden Globe, maybe an Emmy talks happening.” Patrick smiled as Pete looked at him, bewildered and flushed.

“Well shit. Always thought I was kinda a shitty actor.”

“Sometimes you just need to find the right role,” Patrick shrugged. He leaned forward, so he was halfway across the tiny table. “Plus your fingering skills are pretty well established.”

Pete’s dark eyes glistened at Patrick’s comment, but they were interrupted by a waiter handing over the bill. The moment for anything dirty had passed by the time he left, but Pete was still looking perplexed at the thought of any form of acclaim. 

“I hope I don't win anything. I get so nervous with no filter or script.”

“You’ll do fine,” Patrick shrugged, sitting back again. “But if you do win, you sure as fuck better thank me. I gave you this career.”

“There you are,” Pete said, looking whimsical. Or something close to it. “Thought I’d lost this side of you.”

 

Of course Patrick's mom wanted to meet up again, with the both of them. Patrick was strongly against the idea, and kept trying to put her off until Pete overheard him on the phone and convinced him to agree to it.

“Why did I just agree?” Patrick wondered out loud and mostly at Pete. “You meeting my mom is like me meeting your kids.”

“You can meet my daughter if you like,” Pete offered, which wasn't what Patrick was saying at all. “She’s doing a gig the night before we leave so I'm going to that. You’ll be into it.”

“Remember what happened the last time I went to a gig?” Patrick offered, but the idea of live music always had his heart. “Do they know about me?”

“They know I've brought someone from LA with me. But I could just say you're my agent if you like.”

“I don't want them knowing I'm your agent!” Patrick flustered, ignoring how they'd probably know that if he told them his name. “I would like to come though.”

“Good! So arrange details with your mom and I'll sort things out my end.” Pete pulled Patrick in by the shoulders and kissed his mouth. It was out of Patrick’s hands but he didn't want to be a pissbaby about it.

They were meeting Patrick's mom at a restaurant not far from her house. Patrick straight up refused to take Pete to her house where she had access to all his baby photos. It felt too soon to be doing this, but he didn't _not_ want to and he kept that thought in his head on the cab over.

He was nervous. Nervous about his mom telling him off for being mean to Pete, or being too much of a mama’s boy in front of Pete. He didn't want to care what people thought of him, and he was better at hiding it in LA. So mostly he sat in the back of the cab, not talking to Pete, and wishing he was somewhere else.

“I’m so ready to get back to work,” Patrick said to Pete as they waited in the restaurant for his mom. They’d been here over a week now and he was feeling so much better. Still a little tired, but it came in waves. Sex, when more gentle, hadn't screwed his body up further. 

“You miss your kids?” Pete teased, but Patrick shrugged. He actually did, a little bit. The only disappointing part would be not being with Pete like this.

“Some of them more than others,” he joked back, dropping the smile when his mom burst into the restaurant. She looked happy to see him, so he held onto that rather than anything else. She made a big deal about everything, of course, like how _happy Patrick looks!_ And gushing about _meeting someone as famous as Pete Wentz!_ Patrick told her to stop, that Pete wasn't as famous as anyone liked to think, but then they both had the audacity to look at each other and smirk like Patrick wouldn't realize.

Other than that it went okay. Patrick still wasn't drinking and his mom still commented on his haircut and the stitched up gash on his forehead. Patrick tried to be pleasant about it, shrugged it off and didn't even jolt when Pete’s hand rested on his thigh. Patrick wanted to glare, but he couldn’t so he ate his vegetables instead. 

“You will start to visit me more again, won't you, Patrick?” she said at one point. It wasn't so much her guilt tripping him, as him feeling shamelessly guilty for abandoning her. 

“I think I should probably start taking my leave instead of passing it up. And I miss Christmas in Chicago. It isn't the same in LA.” 

“I'll drink to that,” Pete said, lifting his beer. He had his arm over Patrick's shoulder and had the audacity to kiss his cheek right in front of Patrick's mom. 

“Have you met his kids yet?” his mom asked when Pete had left for the bathroom. Patrick stared at her over the table and then shrugged. 

“What, all five of them?”

“Patrick!” she chided and he held his hand up in a brief apology. 

“No I haven't. I think I might be meeting his eldest in a few days." Patrick still didn't know much about her. She was eighteen, she was called Ella and she played music.

“He likes you. You should be kinder to him.”

“I am, when it matters. He likes me like this,” Patrick insisted. It seemed to concern Pete, if Patrick was too sweet for too long. 

Pete paid for the meal on his way back from the bathroom, which annoyed Patrick, as it made him feel weak in front of his mother. When he told Pete that, in the cab home, he just laughed in Patrick's face. 

“What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't pay for dinner when meeting your mom for the first time?” The word boyfriend opened up a hole in Patrick's stomach and he's sure his heart fell through it. He looked the other way and sniffed.

“Just don't make a habit of it.”

 

“You don't hate it do you? The way I am?” Patrick said that night. It felt as good a time as any to bring his fault in personality up, especially when he was riding Pete on the kitchen floor. 

“The way you are? Fuck Patrick.” Pete was grimacing, like Patrick rocking on his dick was a little too much. It was good, fuck. Patrick had actually liked the sex the other night, where he had no control, but it was good to have it back, to have Pete’s body below him, shaking and trying to fight the need to come. “Would I be here if I didn’t?”

“Good,” Patrick said. His shins were hurting on the hard floor, but when he arched his back Pete hit him in just the right spot. Good sex was better than anything. He wrapped one hand around his dick and fisted the other one in Pete’s hair. “Not like I'd change for you anyway.”

 

Patrick fought down the nerves at meeting Pete’s daughter and focused on the fact she was performing at one of the clubs he’d gone to when he'd been even younger than her. When he told Pete that, on the train over, Pete raised his eyebrows.

“You were there at fourteen? That’s young. She's only allowed in because her mom knows the owner, and only on under 21 nights.” Pete was a dad now, and ultimately protective over anything to do with his daughter.

“I used to date dudes old enough to smuggle me in.” Patrick laughed when he thought about it. It felt like a life from a movie. He could sell the rights to it, but it was pretty boring. “Until I hit 15, then I tried joining the bands.”

“Tried?” Pete asked, he was grimacing, holding Patrick's hand tightly. “Didn't they let you in?” “They did, but I'm a control freak. And as bitchy as I am now, imagine me as an angry teenager. I was in for a week, kicked out not long after,” Patrick shrugged, laughing at himself. “I felt like I was too good for them and so basically I just had sex with band dudes that would buy me drinks.”

Pete looked nothing short of horrified. “That's _terrible._ Patrick, my daughter wants to get into the business you told me about.”

“It is now that we’re adults looking back, but I really learned the craft of people management back then.” Patrick paused, just as they rolled up to the stop. “Anyway, the hardcore scene is a different ballgame to what she does. And she’s kept her parents in the loop, unlike myself.”

Meeting Ella wasn't as awkward as it could have been, in that she was both preoccupied with putting on a good show and trying to play it cool about having her famous dad at her show. She ruled the roost though, he could tell with how everyone's eyes were glued on her.

“Just stay in the background. I don't want people knowing you’re here,” she told him. Her dark eyes, so similar to Pete’s, flickered to Patrick briefly. “Not because of the boyfriend, but I don't like the idea of nepotism infringing on my art.”

“Jesus Christ,” Pete said. He looked to his ex, her dark hair braided down to her skull, changing from black to red. She looked assertive, but shrugged at Pete’s nervous glance. Everyone in the room was taller than Patrick, including Ella.

The music wasn’t new sounding, but Patrick hadn't heard anything truly original in forever. For eighteen she was good though, confident, nice voice. She played the keyboard and owned the stage. She had people singing, they knew the words already.

“She's too young,” Pete was saying in Patrick’s ear as they watched from the side and he agreed with that.

“Yeah, she is, but in a few years she won’t be,” Patrick said. He had stuff going around his head, all the people he knew in LA, the almost-friends he had that worked in studios. Maybe it was weird, and, like inappropriate, but he’d make the offer at some point. 

He got low-key interrogated by Pete's ex in the dressing room afterwards. Pete was staunchly watching Ella talk to a boy of similar age. But Patrick tried to focus on what she was saying to him. It was stuff about stability and focus. Patrick looked up in alarm when she went onto a rant about pretty blondes ruining Pete in the past, but he understood. 

“You’re the first ex I met. If this ends up working, there's like another three to go,” he told her. She was tall and Patrick felt a little intimidated. He wasn't entirely sure how Pete ended up with her. He didn't want to piss her off, like he did with other people.

She laughed at his comment though, resting a dark hand on his shoulder. “One will definitely hate you. She hates everyone. Just don't get between him and his kids.”

“I really wouldn't want to do that. I have better things to do than waste my time that way,” Patrick answered. She raised her eyebrows, but accepted that response. She pulled him in for a hug and kissed his cheek. It was a little off kilter, but he went with it.

Pete spent the entire ride home bitching about how maybe they should move to LA if it means that boy wouldn't see his daughter again. Patrick patted his arm, and hummed along, not really sure what to make of the situation.

 

Patrick was so relieved when the doctor informed him that he could return to work. The cut on his forehead was still red, but more of a neat line with less bruising. He still needed monitoring and she wasn't impressed with the fact that he was already dressed for work at the blood test, but she couldn't say no.

“Hollywood would fall apart without me,” Patrick said. She rolled her eyes, like he was being arrogant, but it was the goddamn truth.

He had to wade through so many flowers in his office. Some were drooping and drying up, like they'd been there a while. Patrick read through the notes as he paced his office. Lilies from Gerard...weren't they a sign of death? Patrick wasn't sure whether to be offended or not. His boss had sent him some, a few casting directors he knew had put an effort in and the largest one came with the note _get better soon milf._ Fucking Gabe Saporta. 

He hadn't heard from Pete. He was heading into training for Batman soon and they’d had a slight argument the night before. Patrick had wanted all of the photos deleted from their time in Chicago. There were a lot on there, dirty ones with Patrick in panties and cute ones too; cuddled on the couch; one of Penny sleeping on Patrick, who was sleeping on the couch. Patrick wanted him to keep them too, as a reminder of what happened back home, but it wasn't worth the risk. They had the memories locked up in their heads, that had to be enough. 

Eventually, Pete agreed and Patrick had watched him delete them. He'd sucked Pete off afterward, to make it up to him. He'd blown Pete and hadn't complained once about the aching jaw he received afterwards. 

“Welcome to the jungle,” Joe said, walking into Patrick’s office. “Glad to be back?”

“I am, yeah,” Patrick said. The heady scent of the flowers was giving him a headache, but he tried to keep gratitude higher than annoyance. “Are you glad to have me back?”

“Fucking _yes._ I couldn't do it, dude. They're all so demanding, all the time. I like being your assistant way more,”Joe joked. He filled Patrick in on some of the more important details, like the fact Pete was seriously in contention during award season, and that Gabe had picked up a second round of auditions for a war drama. Then he leaned over to Patrick with his cute Trohman smile. “You still in love with Wentz?”

“Well you don't have to say it like that,” Patrick said. He adjusted his shirt sleeves, hearing Joe laugh at his admittance. “That bump on the head did a goddamn number on me, I swear.”

“Little wittle Patrick's in love, but that's good. You deserve something good.”

“Yeah. I'm ending this conversation. Call Frank and let him know I'm ready to meet him for whatever it was he emailed me about.” For all that Patrick mocked Frank, he was the one with the most steady prolific work. It was just network stuff, more character acting than he’d maybe want.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As with anything good that had ever happened to Patrick, it all had to end eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this :)

After a long first day back at work, Patrick went out with Vicky for drinks later that night. He still wasn’t drinking, but he didn't tell her that when he ordered for them at the bar, insisting he was on vodka and Coke when she asked. He didn't want her to give him another earful about how he’d changed.

“You betrayed me,” she said. She looked tired beneath the heavy bangs, but Patrick didn’t tell her that. It would be really rude. “You’re in love and everything. With a guy with a billion kids.”

“Just five,” Patrick said, as if the number was small. “I’ve met one fifth of them now too, so there’s progress there. And he met my mom, which is even worse.”

“I Googled him earlier. You know he’s dating a yoga instructor, right? Did he tell you that?” Vicky was being bitter to piss him off now. She knew the game just as well as he did. Neither of them did particularly well when the other was in a relationship. They were cynically single and they liked each other best like that.

Patrick still dismissed her comment. “He’s fresh on the scene again, they wanted to make him look changed. He goes for regular women now, not models. He's sensitive, a family man...blah blah blah.”

“Beards don’t always stay just beards.” She gave him a pointed look over the romantic purple lighting of the club. Patrick rolled his eyes.

“Does it even count as a beard if he dates women anyway? Maybe she’s stubble, not a full beard.” That was super lame, Patrick could hardly believe he said it aloud. Neither could Vicky, judging by the look on her face. “I don’t care. I've never known anyone so unenthusiastic about dating a yoga instructor in their life. He only has eyes for me.”

“Rich handsome actor falls for sad blond twink. I could make a movie out of that bullshit,” she said, downing her margarita. For once, Patrick didn't focus on the semi-nude dudes and stared at her instead.

“It’s not indie enough for you,” Patrick said, but she shrugged, having an answer back.

“I’ll set it in France, or maybe Amsterdam. That always scares the mainstream. But whatever, I'm over it. Just tell me about the sex.”

“It’s good sex, I guess,” Patrick answered. “He makes me question the way I like it. Like, I dunno. I like to get fucked, but I like to be the one fucking myself.”

She nodded her head, like she got it. “You like a human dildo beneath you.”

“Right!” Patrick leaned forward enthusiastically. “Only sometimes now I get all caught up and I let him have control and I actually like it! Not all the time, only sometimes. And one time I kind of cried, but only because it felt like it got into my head.”

“You are so fucked up,” she told him. “I’d rather be single than deal with that bullshit.”

“That’s a lie,” Patrick said, smiling when she did. They'd been bitching this whole time because no one understood each other like they did. “Also where are my flowers? My office is like a florist from being sick and not one of them was from you.”

“Like I’d pay money to send flowers that you’d only kill. Plus I called you, I knew you were fine.”

“All flowers die eventually,” Patrick informed her, though she was right, he was useless with plants. 

“Everything dies eventually,” she shrugged. Patrick remembered her talking about being a goth as a kid, maybe she still was with a comment like that. Even Patrick wasn’t that morbid.

Patrick felt drunk as he made it home that night, even though he hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol. His head was filled with the heady atmosphere of the club and the dark tone his friendship with Vicky always touched. Still he managed to grab at his phone from his pocket as it started to buzz.

“Hey Patrick.” It was Pete. Patrick was glad no one but his dog was around to see the stupid grin that slipped onto his face at the sound of his voice. “Was one of our rules something about how we could only see each other in hotel rooms?”

Patrick thought back. It probably was. He didn't care anymore. “You can come over.”

Pete laughed. “I’m halfway there already, babe.”

 

Pete was whining again three days later. Patrick was at his place, trying to find his bow tie from the night before. Patrick had a meeting with Frank, and Pete had his first read through for Batman. It was becoming too easy to be here, but Patrick was having fun. 

“I gotta go to some gala tonight. I wish I could take you,” Pete was saying. He had half of the Batman script in hand, the half he’d been allowed to see, and a cap low over his eyes.”The worst part of Hollywood is these nights.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Patrick said. He found the bow tie beneath the kitchen table and tucked it under his collar before doing it up. “Galas aren't so bad. I used to have to go to movie ones and medical fundraisers with my ex. You ever been to a medical convention? Too many doctors spoil the mood.”

“The mood of money and wine?” Pete teased, but he wasn’t there. He didn't have to suffer with Patrick. 

“They’re boring, but the one thing they taught me was how to spot a good nose job. That was his specialty. He got a real natural chisel into the tip.” Patrick touched the tip of his own nose. “Anyway, you will have fun. Let me know how the read-through goes.”

“Have you read the script?” Pete asked, but Patrick hadn’t. It was all hush-hush, only the main cast so far. They’d shopped around for a decent director and landed on a gem. Either way, Batman would make them good money. 

“Not yet. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” Patrick kissed Pete, still fiddling with the bow tie around his neck before stepping away. He’d go home after he’d met up with Frank to change his clothes, so no one knew he hadn’t been home. He didn't need any dumb comments coming in any direction. 

Frank was looking disgruntled when Patrick sat opposite him at the bistro. Patrick didn't take it personally, as he generally looked that way, but Patrick knew he was in for a headache. He ordered a green tea and waited for Frank to start.

“I’m fuckin tired of being a joke. A goddamn character actor. I want something new,” he said. He was on, quite possibly, his third coffee, but his words were slow and precise. “It was fine in the noughties when everyone watched network shows, but it's so lame now.”

“It’s okay to want a change,” Patrick said. The sensitive version of himself was going to have to come out. “Is there anything you want me to look out for?”

“Don’t laugh,” Frank said, dark eyes on Patrick, waiting on any kind of reaction. Patrick nodded and simply smiled placidly, with no humor.

“I want comedy.” Patrick didn't laugh, even if the idea seemed absurd to him. “Not that fuckin’ slapstick bullshit. I want something smart. You keep giving people new shit, and I'm still playing part of the mob in shitty arcs on shitty network shows.”

“I don't have a problem shopping around. Comedy feels like a big step though.”

“I want something new, man. And, I could be good at it. I mean, you got Gabe a fucking Bond role. Pete Wentz hasn't done anything in years and suddenly he's Batman. So why the fuck can't I do comedy?”

“I'll look around. You've got three things coming up, I don't want you dropping out, but you're the hardest working dude on the books. I'm sure we can find something.”

“But nothing shitty,” Frank said. 

“Does it, like, 100% have to be comedy?” he asked. This would be a big ask. Frank had a sense of humor, but it could be drier than anything and that didn't mesh with what everyone had seen of his acting so far.

“Do this for me, dude.” Frank's phone rang and he answered it sweetly, sweeter than he'd ever spoken to Patrick. Must be his wife. 

 

Brendon had left two messages for Patrick, but he deleted them as he left Frank at the coffee shop. His workload seemed so large at the moment that he didn't have it in him to talk nice with an ex client. He was home briefly, changing his clothes, and then back at the office, dealing with the momentous challenge of Frank's new career path. 

Patrick was tired when he fell into bed that night and lonely. It felt weird, sleeping alone, and his head was caught up in Pete out at the gala. Patrick still couldn’t think of anything worse than being at a fundraiser surrounded by so many Hollywood big-hitters, but the thought of Pete being there, with his funny, quirky beard had him almost, really, frustratingly jealous. 

_Send me a photo of you._ Patrick texted. He had to wait twenty minutes, but he got one back. Pete’s face was scrunched together in faux confusion. He looked cute, with his skinny tie and black hair. Patrick stared at him, didn’t text back, and tried not to scare himself with how he felt about it all. 

It came in waves, the feeling of love and excitement, and then it was drowned out by the situation they were in. It wasn’t quite forbidden, and maybe if Patrick wasn’t his agent, he wouldn’t feel quite as bad about it. 

“What kind of kinky shit did you do with that photo I sent you?” Pete said the next night. He was at Patrick’s house, eating Patrick’s food. It was better than the night before, even if Patrick didn't want to admit to it. 

“I just missed you,” Patrick said. He felt silly saying it out loud. Patrick was a grown man who enjoyed being independent…he didn't want to feel needy. He sat next to Pete, tapping his fork into the pink flesh of the salmon. ”I think I'm still a little loopy in the head.”

“It’s cool. I’d have had more fun with you, hiding in a room, trying to take you out of a suit. You know I like you in your suits,” Pete tried to wink and Patrick tried to act dismissive but they both ended up laughing. “You’ll have to start visiting me on set when we start filming. We’re shooting in Canada.”

“I like Canada,” Patrick said. “We’ll work something out.”

They didn't have sex when they went to bed that night. Patrick wanted to, because he wouldn't see Pete for a few days; he was having his younger kids stay over and that wasn't Patrick's domain, but he was tired. Too tired to fuck. 

"Tired because of work or in an unhealthy way again?" Pete asked. He was sitting up in the bed, as Patrick laid down, and had his gentle fingers stroking over Patrick's cheeks, into his hair and then down the side of his face. Patrick didn't complain, just moved into it.

"I don't think I'll ever be as tired as I was when I was sick. I think it's just work. I had a meeting with Frank today and..." Patrick paused. He didn't need to bore Pete with the details. "I guess we can have sex, just don't expect me to participate too much."

"That would be shitty," Pete said. He kissed Patrick on the lips, soft and with no tongue, but it made Patrick want to sink closer, deeper. When Pete pulled away, to flop onto his back, Patrick inched closer, until his forehead was pressed to Pete's shoulder and his hand rested on his chest.

Patrick slept, yet seemed aware of Pete the whole time. In the times of consciousness, he counted Pete's heartbeat under his fingers. He felt attached, like he was losing the independent side of himself that he'd kept so locked up. Maybe he was letting go. It made it hard to sleep, but he was soothed by Pete's breathing. 

Maybe it was an omen, that's what Patrick thought when he opened his emails that morning. Pete had left early, though they'd traded blow job's in the shower to makeup for the night before. Patrick kissed Pete goodbye, and watched him leave. Patrick didn't live on a busy street and he wasn't a known celebrity; no one would care for a man leaving Patrick's house, or at least they wouldn't know it was a famous actor.

Patrick was planning on making calls from home; to put feelers out for shows that could possibly take Frank on for an episode, maybe have him audition for something more obscure. He booted up his computer and waited for his emails to load. He knew what the first one was immediately. It had been a while since the last threat, he'd been waiting for it to arrive.

_end it or things will get worse. I can make them worse for him. See attached_

Patrick didn't want to see _attached_ at all, but he wasn't sure what choice he had. He clicked the attachments and waited for them to load. His chest already felt heavy, his thumb tapping nervously on his lower lip.

It was all photos. All photos that Pete had taken when they'd been in Chicago. Patrick and Penny smiling and sleeping on the couch. The two of them smiling at the phone, Patrick with the popsicle in his mouth, smirking at the camera. Pete had his arm over him, like he was half holding him up, half falling in love with him. The last ones were the worst. Patrick naked; Patrick in the fucking plaid panties.

"Fuck." Patrick went very hot and then very cold. First the idea that someone else had seen the photos caught a hold of his chest and then the realization that he was being blackmailed with it. He could go to the cops, but what would they do? Patrick had had clients with stalkers in the past, but there needed to be actual threats, and this didn't seem violent enough. Plus, going to the cops would out Pete more. Would out their relationship.

He felt rage at Pete bubbling beneath the surface now. He deleted the photos, Patrick watched him do it, but he can't have removed them completely. Maybe he sent them to a friend, but that didn't sound like him. It didn't sound like what Pete would do. He shouldn't have fucking taken them in the first place.

He printed the photos off without looking at them too hard, along with the email before filing it with the rest of the crap he'd gotten. He felt sick, head spinning. Panic was spreading through his blood, his fingers shaking, his lips bleeding from how he'd started to shred them with his teeth. He opened his emails up again and typed a message to the anonymous sender.

_you cant force a relationship to end. Don't be stupid_

Maybe it was a lame comeback, but he was hoping that a calm head and response would help. He checked the address while he waited for a response, but it didn't lead to any other results. 

_blogs have been digging for something on Pete for a while. I'll send them these photos with your name. Pete Wentz fucking his agent for roles. Not a good thing for either of you._

Patrick violently pulled away from the desk. He was sick in the bathroom, but tried to pull himself together. It wasn't just the damage and press it would do to Pete's currently rehabilitated status, but his own too. He was the best at the job; the cleanest. He had built a strong relationship with directors, casting agents and writers, all who went to him above auditions sometimes. He never cut corners and he always made sure he got the best deal. To lose his own career to this relationship, to the exposure, was terrifying.

Then there were the photos. Nude photos of him, some in panties, which was maybe worse. He felt panicked at the thought of someone other than Pete seeing them. He knew in his gut that Pete hadn't shown anyone else, just that his security wasn't strong enough to risk a hacking. To have those released, well, that felt the worst. 

_Give me time. Let me do it in my way._

 

He had three days until he'd see Pete again. Then he had to end it, lose whatever it was that they'd started. Patrick had been lonely for two years straight, probably longer, when thinking about his past relationship. He didn't want to go back to that, to being so cold and angry at the idea of any form of affection. But then, he'd survived it once. He could do it again.

Patrick went to work like nothing was wrong. He bargained with a casting agent working on a network comedy to put Frank in as a guest spot. Don't rewrite it for him, he said, because that would lessen the stereotypical jokes he'd have thrown at him. It was a weak attempt on his part, but he managed to wing it. He emailed Frank the details and thought about other things for a while. 

Patrick was forced into his routinely monthly dinner at Joe and Marie's house that evening. He'd had a message from Pete, asking how his day was and explaining that he was elbow deep in slime. Patrick had smiled, but wanted to cry instead.

Dinner was quiet, like no one knew what to say. Patrick had noticed Joe's looks of concern throughout the day, but he'd had enough sense to not ask what the matter was. Patrick ate even though he wasn't hungry, and tried not to see the nude photos of himself behind his eyes.

"Marie, you're a lawyer," Patrick said, when Joe had gone to pick the ringing phone up. They were both sitting at the table, the empty plates between them. "I have a client with an issue."

"What kind?"

"Someone has photos of my client that they shouldn't have. Like, nudes. " Nudes and plaid panties. Fuck. "And he doesn't know how they got hold of them because apparently the photos were deleted.

"If he was hacked then it is a legal matter. Usually they want something in return. If there's signs of blackmail then it is easier to prosecute, but revenge porn is still in its early days. And once the photos are out there, they're out there."

"So there's nothing that can be done?" Patrick said.

Marie frowned, like she didn't understand. "Of course there are things that can be done, and I'm sure your clients attorney are doing all they can to help, but cyber crime is still murky and the results aren't always cut and dry."

"Right." Patrick nodded. "That's what I thought." 

“Is there something else?” she looked at him curiously, but Patrick shrugged. He wasn't going to say anything, not to anyone. 

 

Patrick didn't respond to Pete's message when he got home, he didn't know how. He couldn't sleep and felt pathetic about the reason why. He drank water and sat on his couch, staring at his blank TV screen. 

He wanted Pete, loved him probably, but it wasn't worth the risk to both their careers. He knew, deep down, that whoever was threatening him, could very well release all information they had anyway, but it had always seemed a vendetta against Patrick rather than Pete. If Pete was out of the picture, then there was no use ruining his career.

“Are you ready for me to become the miserable ass I always was?” Patrick asked Penny, who lifted her head at his words. She blinked her black eyes at him and then butted her head against his knee. At least he had his dog.

He text Pete before he went to bed. Told him he missed him, hoped he was having a good time. Patrick turned his phone off and shut his eyes, but he didn't sleep. 

Patrick was filled with dread when Pete came over. He wanted to take him upstairs, have Pete make love to him, _have the control._ Give it up to Pete because he could do that now, and he trusted him. He couldn't though, because of the photos. The _fucking_ photos that Pete had taken and deleted. He'd emailed again, told the person to give him time for Pete to come over. They didn't respond, but Patrick took that as an okay. He wasn't naked on the internet yet, so he had time.

Pete was all smiles and Patrick wanted to die. Wanted the ground to straight up swallow him whole because he didn't know what he was doing. 

“I feel like you'd love slime. I should make some up for you. A great stress relief,” Pete was saying. He was sitting on Patrick's couch, body spread like he was totally relaxed. Patrick sat beside him, feeling tense as anything. 

“We need to talk. About what we're doing,” Patrick started. He hadn't dumped anyone since he was a teenager and that was so different to this. 

“Why?” Pete asked, but already Patrick felt his body tighten beside him. “Why do we need to talk?”

“Because the whole reason you hired me was to get your career back on track, but I think it's getting in the way now.” Patrick tried not to look at Pete, even if his eyes kept automatically sliding over to him.

“How?” Pete asked laughing, but he wasn't smiling. “Are you seriously doing this right now? Are you fucking _serious?_ ”

“Yes, I'm serious,” Patrick said. He wanted to unfurl his hands from the fists they were in, but he couldn't do it. Couldn't look up at Pete. “We need to stop this or it's going to get in the way.”

“My God, are you that fucked up? Did I give you too much or not enough?”

“It isn't you. I'm doing this for your sake. For you. I know it doesn't seem like that.” Patrick swallowed and stared down at his hands. “I have to do this, for you. It's over. I'm sorry.”

“You don't sound like you mean it.” Pete's hands touched Patrick's and it made something burst before he tugged his hands away. He tucked them tight between his knees and tried to breathe through the angst.

“I do. This has to stop and then you can be what you want. You can have everything... but I'm not worth giving everything up for. I'm just your stupid, dumb agent and you should just forget about me.”

“You’re not dumb or stupid, but you’re acting it right now.” This was the last chance. The last time Pete would use that soft voice on him, like he was trying to understand. Patrick wouldn’t even know where to begin. It was better he didn't know. If Pete knew, and then the blackmailer knew, then it could all come out and make everything worse.

“I know I’m stupid to let you go, but I have to. For your sake. This is for you, even if it sucks.” Patrick stood up because he couldn't sit next to Pete and his sweet confusion anymore. He might cry, he felt right on the brink. 

“Jesus Christ. You really are something special,” Pete said. His voice was shaky, like he was in shock. “I feel sad for you already.”

“Okay.” Patrick was a coward. He felt like one as he left the room, closed the door on himself in the bathroom and started to cry when Pete finally left his house in a blaze of slammed doors.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick takes the break up very badly before finally finding out who has been behind the emails all this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the penultimate chapter! Hope you like it :)

There was something really terrible in dumping someone he actually loved. Patrick had warmed his cold heart up for someone and then just carved it out and thrown it away. He wanted Pete back and he wanted to get all domesticated and maybe meet some of his other kids and they could go on vacation, or maybe just hide away when Pete’s on a shoot sometime. 

He just kept reminding himself that Pete wouldn’t have that life with him anyway. If they'd have continued it’d have come out about their affair. Patrick Stump, the talent agent with the casting couch; letting actors fuck him for roles. Not just any roles; Batman was bigger than anything. Pete’s image would be in tatters and Patrick’s reputation ruined. Patrick was broken-hearted and a mess, but that seemed better than the alternative.

He was a wreck for maybe four days. He cut the bleach out of his hair, until it was just the short threads of his reddish blond staring back at him. He looked like a kid, he realized, without all the crazy hair and suits. He got looks from his clients for the change, but they never asked why.

 

“Why did it all go tits up?” Vicky asked him. They were out drinking, and Patrick was throwing them back, looking at the men that looked at him. He wanted to spit in their faces and tear himself open on their dicks; he wanted to rage at it all with someone that might push him back maybe a little too far. 

“Because I’m his fucking agent not his boyfriend. I can't be both.” He poured another drink down his neck, and waited for the burn to hit. It didn’t. He must be too drunk to notice now. 

“Eh, in this industry you probably could,” she said, but Patrick shook his head. He didn’t mention the blackmailing, which had stopped for the time being. Patrick had waited, waited on the cruel joke to occur, where the photos were leaked anyway and it all was for nothing, but the person kept to their word. “You were in love and everything.”

“For sure I was,” Patrick said. “I’m done with it now. Everything to do with it. Love can burn in hell.”

“Good boy,” Vicky said. She had a look of sympathy on her face though, Patrick could tell even through the blurriness.

 

Patrick was one hundred percent done with it. With everything to do with happiness and smiles and good eating. He went back to his canned fruit and ignored Joe's awkward suggestions that he should _maybe, like, not do that._

“It’s fruit, Joe. It isn't gonna kill me,” he said. He bit down hard on a chunk of pineapple - and the inside of his cheek - his mouth filled with blood, but he just plugged the wound with his tongue, looking up at his friend with fake innocence.

“Dude, it’s _barely_ fruit.” Joe sat on the edge of Patrick’s desk gently, really careful, because Patrick was a toddler on the cusp of a tantrum at all times recently. He sighed heavily and grabbed the half eaten can from Patrick's hand. “Pete’s due in for a meeting tomorrow. Do you want to cancel?”

“I’m a big boy, I can handle it,” Patrick said. He hoped Pete had got ten times more ugly since the break up, so Patrick would be able to look in his eyes again.

Patrick ignored Joe, he didn't want to know. He didn't care to think about what people thought about him now. He was stupid and he sabotaged the one thing he had in his life that he actually loved. He could think about it later at night, the fact that he loved Pete. He loved him because Pete took care of him, and it was just good, having someone that did that.

He was still dreading the meeting with Pete though, because he hadn't seen him since the breakup. He'd been shooting in Canada, so they hadn't run into each other. It'd been what? Three weeks. Not that Patrick was counting.

So of course he still looked cute, in that ugly fashion way. He sat opposite Patrick in the office, staring him right in the eye, like he was completely unaffected by what happened.

"The hair's different," Pete said, looking at Patrick's natural hair color. Patrick remembered how it felt, having Pete's fingers run through his hair. "You look really young."

"Yeah." Patrick looked away. He tried to think of something feisty to say, to remind Pete that he was still Patrick, and he hadn't changed at all, but nothing came to him.

"It's nice, though. You look nice," Pete said. "Are you keeping okay?"

"We don't have to do that thing where we pretend everything is normal," Patrick said back. He fidgeted in his seat, feeling about as uncomfortable in his skin as he could. "It isn't normal."

Pete said nothing for a while before shrugging. "It sucks, but you chose this."

"I know I did, but can we just..." Patrick sucked a breath in and then blew it out. "I've had a few offers for you. After Batman. We can go lighter or heavier, there's a few options."

The meeting was horrible because of the awkwardness. With every pause in the conversation Patrick wanted to tell Pete the truth, that this wasn't what he wanted. He was almost mad at Pete, for having composure and calmness, for not looking like a wreck. For not knowing that Patrick was doing it against his will.

"He's an actor, Patrick. He's just putting on a front," Joe said to Patrick when Pete had left. Patrick wanted to just not be here anymore. Maybe be back in Chicago with his mom who would let him cry it out and not shout at him this time. 

"I didn't want to break up. That was the last thing I wanted," Patrick said, still not explaining the reason why. Joe nodded and patted Patrick's shoulder before leaving.

 

Patrick had sex that night with some guy that he met at some bar. Patrick _hated_ them, hated how they look at him and called him baby. He wanted to pin them down and ride them until it hurt because he wanted it to match how he felt outside, but he didn’t. Instead, he was bent over the hotel bed, in all his clothes, and fucked roughly with hands either side of his hips. His face moved on the bed, with every thrust and shove, and it wasn't Pete. He just told himself this wasn't Pete. He wouldn't let it be like this with him.

It felt like a bad idea when he did it and even worse the next morning when he was sitting in a hotel breakfast bar with a sore ass and a weak coffee. Misery was clouding everything, drowning him. Brendon was calling again, but Patrick ended the call. He didn't want to deal in anything. 

He had a party that night, a function thrown at a beach house. Patrick didn't want to go, but he wasn't willing to actually throw away the career he sacrificed his relationship for in the first place. He put on a sharp gray suit and a blue bow tie and combed his hair in the mirror. He wished he hadn't cut his hair, in a way, it felt too much like he had himself on show now. The real, soft, Patrick.

His movements were still a little stiff from the night before. The man had given Patrick his number, said he wanted to see him again. Patrick had laughed, tossed it in the bin and left, to sit in the hotel bar all night, until it reopened for breakfast. A broken ass was the only thing he had to remember it by.

Half his clients were here; Gabe was around, looking fairly sober, and Frank the vaguely comedic actor was picking the label off his beer bottle and looking bored. William was reveling in the attention, with three equally pretty girls surrounding him. Pete was there too, with his beard. Patrick wanted to say she was ugly, now that he actualy was jealous. She wasn't though, and so Patrick tried to not look at her all night.

"This year is flourishing for you, Stump." Someone was talking at Patrick. Another agent; young, and from another label. "We're all fucking jealous that you keep poaching actors and roles from us. What's the fucking secret?"

"Who the fuck knows?" Patrick said, fake laughing. He made a joke, at the expense of crummy actors. He was convincing and held a conversation for a little while, still dead inside.

He ended up on the second floor balcony at one point, nearing the end of the party, when the night was closer to day. He could see the ocean, and waves of people dancing stupidly on the sand. Pete was there, smiling and dancing with the woman. Patrick stared at them and let everything ache inside.

"No one likes a sad mama." Patrick lifted his head to see Gabe approach. He folded his long legs down, and sat beside Patrick. He smelled like faint cologne but not alcohol. He must've been sticking to his soberness. Patrick was surprised. 

"I'm not that sad," Patrick said. He tried to tear his eyes away from Pete, where he was pushing her hair out of her face. 

"We all know you were together, you know that, right? We're all a bunch of gossips and wheedled the information from Hurley. No one cares. We know you busted his balls just as much as ours, you just kissed them better afterward too."

"That's disgusting," Patrick said, but he appreciated it, even if Andy was a goddamn gossip. "It wasn't fair to be together, so it had to end. It wasn't just a hook-up thing, but seeing him with her, maybe it was for him."

"They're not kissing. If you're with someone at a party at two-thirty in the morning and you're not kissing, then it isn't anything romantic. Believe me." Gabe winked, and threw an arm over Patrick's shoulder. 

Patrick started crying, which was humiliating, but he'd been so tightly wound from the night before, and no one had really been straight up nice to him in this. Everyone else thought he was a self-sabotaging dumbass. 

"This shirt is Armani, but I don't care if you get Stump snot on it because you cleaned my puke up and made sure I was okay after my own darkness. And I know I'm your favorite anyway, deep down."

"You are," Patrick said, wiping his eyes even though they wouldn't stop weeping. He didn't want to cry, but he couldn't stop the waterfall. "I think he tamed me and then I fucked it up."

"Can you un-fuck it up?" Gabe asked. Patrick shrugged. He didn't know. "You should talk to him. And from one Lothario about another, he ain't fucking her. She probably spends most of the time wiping his snot from her clothes. 

"Okay." Patrick nodded. It felt like one of those nights where things would seem slightly better in the morning now, after this talk. His eyes were wet and puffy, but the pep talk was better.

"You're my favorite kid, especially after tonight." Patrick kissed Gabe's forehead and stood up. "But I'm gonna go home now and cry into the soft fur of my dog."

 

Patrick tried to pull himself together a little bit better and he thought he was doing okay. He didn't hook up with anyone else, and only during his most pathetic moments alone did he finger himself and pretend it was Pete. Whatever, heartbreak did that to people.

When he was feeling particularly shitty he Googled Pete's name and looked up articles about him and his 'girlfriend'. They looked cute, in Patrick's opinion, but he held onto Gabe's belief that they weren't together. 

"I think it's time you and Marie go and, like, have a baby," Patrick was saying to Joe one day. He was backstage at one of Joe's gigs, looking at his friend tuning his guitar. "It's time I had something else in my life." 

"You want me to have a baby with my wife just so you'd have a baby in your life?" Joe said slowly, like he was trying to work something out. "You have a dog. Isn't that enough?"

"A baby needs organizing. You know I could put together the _best_ schedule for it. And have sleepovers with it. I work with adult babies all the time."

"No!" Joe shook his head. "You do not work with _adult babies._ That's like a gross thing, right?"

"I didn't mean it in the sex way," Patrick paused. "I'm just saying that I have something missing in my life right now and I think your kid could help."

"Dude, you are being way more weird that normal. Can you tone it down?" Joe said. He lifted his guitar and walked away from Patrick, who just shrugged and chugged down his water instead. 

Of course it was in Patrick's head that the last time he'd gone to one of Joe's gigs was when he'd been at his sickest with Pete. He'd knocked himself out cold and fallen in love with him afterward. He tried to enjoy the show a little more this time, healthy enough to be among the crowd. He got called a lot of rude names by a lot of metalheads, for getting in the way of their headbanging, but who the fuck cared about them? Not Patrick.

He left before the after party and went home to his dog. Maybe Joe was right, Patrick didn't have a baby but he had Penny. He didn't want to go to bed, so he opened a bottle of wine, put _Purple Rain_ on the speakers and dialed it as high as he could. He danced until he was dizzy, until he couldn't fumble his way along with the words. He'd just crashed on the couch, Penny asleep in his arms, when he heard someone press the doorbell.

"I hope that's Pete," Patrick said to Penny, before moving her to the floor and stumbling to his feet. He walked to the door, and opened it to see Brendon standing there.

"Oh, it's you," Patrick said. "Why are you here?"

"Why have you been ignoring my calls?" Brendon asked and then pushed past Patrick to let himself inside. "Feral Bunny isn't my agent anymore, so he should stop being a dick to me."

"Fine." Patrick was confused as he closed his door and followed Brendon inside his own house. "Wait. No, why are you here? Seriously." 

"Why am I here? To fix whatever madness is going on," Brendon said. He took a seat at Patrick's kitchen table and then frowned at Patrick when he joined him. "Why are you walking funny?"

"I'm drunk," Patrick said. "I was dancing to Prince before you showed up. I'm a little dizzy."

"Right." Brendon nodded. Then his face softened at Patrick. "Dude, I know everything. I've seen the photos."

Patrick's stomach dropped. He almost puked before he sat back. "It's you? You're the one that's been stalking me?"

"No, of course I'm not, you fucking idiot," Brendon said. "It's Ryan. Didn't you work it out?"

"Obviously not." Patrick's stomach dropped further, if at all possible. “Are you sure? Why would he do that?”

“He's not been well for a long time. He got it into his head that it was your fault, I guess, that we broke up. He'd been sending me messages for some time about you, I ignored them at first, but they got weirder, more intense. I tried to call you to warn you to keep an eye but you wouldn't pick up.”

“Sorry. I've been, uh… preoccupied.” Patrick rubbed his eye's. He felt relief almost. Horrified because someone he knew had been hacking him, but at least that way it was contained. There was no weirdo with a chain of friends passing the photos around. Well, there was, but then chain ended at one person.

“What do we do about it?”

“I'm not sure,” Brendon shrugged. “He was going to leak them whether you ended things or not… I told him I wanted him to visit. To not do anything rash.”

“I honestly can not deal with this right now. I'm like drunk and… You just…” Patrick licked his lips. “I lost him over this.”

Brendon’s dark eyes fell to the table. “You were the hardest agent I ever had, but also the best. We’ll sort it out.”

The only reason Patrick slept that night was because he was already shitfaced before Brendon had arrived. He had Brendon bed down in his guestroom, but woke him up at his usual time. 

“We don't get up this early in New York,” Brendon told Patrick, when he threw a glass of water over his old client. Sometimes Patrick really liked being a bitch, and anyway, he wouldn't waste anymore time now. 

“We’re not in New York, are we?” Patrick rolled his eyes. The apprehension and anxiety had thwarted whatever hangover he may have had and he was itching to resolve things. “Come on, we’re going to the office.”

Brendon had come over late last night in a rental, which meant he got to drive them through the LA traffic. Patrick had Penny on his lap, and was stroking her soft fur, telling her how sorry he was for leaving her with his stalker without realizing.

“He liked the dog. He wouldn’t have hurt her. I think she was company for him,” Brendon was saying, as they stayed stuck in traffic. “What are you going to do?”

“Explain everything to Joe, and then piece together the things you told me last night. I might react differently now that I’m not drunk,” Patrick said. “Thank you for coming here and telling me.”

“I couldn’t let it continue. I don’t love him, but I am worried for his well-being now.” Brendon’s shoulders were by his ears, like he didn't want to be having this conversation. 

Joe was in the office before them, but he didn’t look happy about it. Working the day after a gig was never a fun time. His eyes widened at Brendon though and got even wider when he saw Penny in Patrick’s arms.

“Joe, I’ve been hiding something from you,” Patrick said, and then gestured at his office door. Joe followed them, as Patrick let Penny down to the ground. He sat in his office chair and finally let things hit him. “Actually, I’m gonna let Brendon explain. I don't think I can.”

“Um, so like. I used to date Ryan,” Brendon said, which Joe knew because he’d been the one to tell Patrick in the first place. “Um, anyway. He was like way too intense for me and I wanted to get into theater I moved to New York and basically dumped him. That's the short of it.”

“And it’s my fault,” Patrick said, cutting in. This was the part he didn't understand; what role he had in Ryan’s revenge.

“Why is it your fault?” Joe asked, about as confused as Patrick.

“It isn’t Patrick’s fault,” Brendon said. “But Ryan thinks Patrick convinced me to leave him and head to New York.”

“He told you to fuck off to JFK,” Joe laughed, remembering the first time Brendon had brought it up.

“Which you did do, with my blessing, but you were dynamite at that time. I didn't want you to go so this is redundant. It wasn’t my fault.”

“It wasn’t no, but I think Ryan is a sick guy. He thought our relationship was more than it was and then when I left I think he figured you were the only other guy to blame.”

“But I, like, looked out for him.” Patrick spun side to side in his chair, head in his hands. “I let him look after Penny because he got fired for being a no show at the production company.”

“Maybe he thought you were rubbing it in?” Joe suggested. “Anyway, I still don’t get what happened.”

“Remember that shitty script you gave me, that tiny excerpt about what a weirdo I am?” It was months ago now. The day he met Pete. He always linked the two in his head. Joe nodded his head, and then widened his eyes when he clocked on. “The last few months I started getting more of them. And some more less kind notes. Sometimes in my mailbox, sometimes via email. He knew about my relationship with Pete.”

“He blackmailed you?” Joe asked and Patrick nodded, licking his lips. 

“When we were in Chicago, Pete took photos of us together. Normal couple stuff and some sort of naughty ones.” Patrick felt himself turning red. He couldn’t look at Brendon, who had seen the photos. “Anyway, he promised to delete them when we got back to LA, which he did do. But Ryan has them now and he threatened to leak them to the press if I didn't end things.”

“He wanted you to suffer like he did?” Joe questioned, Patrick shrugged, but Brendon was shaking his head.

“You guys see that he’s not well, right? Our relationship wasn’t like yours, Patrick. You don't deserve to break up a relationship because another guy is jealous that he’s alone.”

“How did he get the photos?” Patrick wanted to know. He knew Pete wouldn’t have passed them around, he wasn’t like that. 

“He hacked Pete’s cloud.” That made zero sense to Patrick, until he had it explained to him by Joe. Patrick made a mental note to email all his clients about unlinking their cloud from their photos the moment he had a spare minute. “He spends all day alone with his computer. It probably didn’t take long.”

“You could write a great movie about this,” Joe joked. “So that’s why you broke up with him. To protect him from the scandal.”

“And myself. It would be a scandal for me to sleep with an actor, especially one I pulled so many strings for.” Patrick still stood by his opinion that Pete had been the best guy on his books to face Andy in _Batman._ And he didn’t want Joe thinking he was sacrificing himself in any kind of melodramatic way.

“That shit happens all the time. Especially on Broadway,” Brendon said.

“I’m not a lame-ass theater agent,” Patrick said. “I work with movie stars. And Frank Iero.”

“At least you can explain what happened to Pete now,” Joe said, cutting into what could’ve been a disagreement over talent agents. “Work things out with him.”

“Work things out with him? I'm not going to un-dump him. That would be idiotic.” Patrick flattened his palms to the arm of his chair and stared at his dog yapping at the bin in the corner. “Ryan did me a favor. It was too risky being with him and being his agent.”

“You are so goddamn stubborn,” Joe said, but then Patrick’s phone started ringing. He looked at it. A casting director. He shooed Joe and Brendon from the room and answered the phone, getting up to pick Penny up, to calm her shouting down. 

 

Brendon was singing. Patrick could hear him even with cotton wool shoved in his ears and a thousand thoughts buzzing around. Penny was asleep in the corner now and Patrick had written a dozen emails back and forth like it was a normal day.

When he’d had enough of the singing and clapping outside his office, he plucked the cotton from his ears and marched from the room and out into the area where Joe had a desk and was enjoying the performance Brendon was putting on for him.

“Ryan isn't doing this to anyone else, right? I’m the only lucky victim,” Patrick said, hands on hips as he looked at Brendon. Brendon nodded, clearing his throat.

“It’s just you. Sorry.”

“Then he needs a doctor not a prison cell.”

“I think he needs jail-time personally,” Joe said, but Patrick shook his head.

“Nothing that Brendon has said has seemed rational. It sounds like even the relationship he had with Brendon wasn’t what he thought it was in the first place. What he’s done is the shittiest thing and an invasion of privacy, but maybe he wouldn’t have done it if I’d paid attention to his behavior in the first place.”

“He doesn’t deserve that kind of kindness,” Brendon said, but Patrick was shaking his head.

“This doesn’t need to be blown out of proportion. He hates me, but he doesn’t hate you. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I think you should go over and see if you can convince him to get some help. Or do I call the cops and explain the issue, but say I'm not pressing charges? One or the other, I think.”

“I could try and talk to him. I only got him to not leak the photos by saying I wanted him in New York that I was going to fly out to see him first. I could maybe sweeten him.”

“That might work,” Joe said. “The cops need to be involved in this though. And I don’t think it’s up to you anyway, Patrick.”

“What do you mean? It’s me he was harassing. It was my body in those photos.” Patrick was going to burn those plaid panties. He never wanted to see them again.

Joe nodded, like he understood. Patrick had put his poor hungover state through a lot these last few hours. “Yeah, but it was Pete that was hacked, and it was his photos that were stolen because he took them. He has to be involved whether you like this or not and I’m guessing it’s up to him whether he presses charges or not.”

“I’ll email and let him know.”

“No,” Joe said calmly. “You’re not emailing him. You’re gonna explain everything to him, what happened, why it happened, and then you’ll reach a decision over what you want to do.”

“He is in _Canada,_ ” Patrick said. “I work in the movies, but I’m not _in_ the movies. I won’t fly over and fall at his feet begging him for some type of forgiveness.”

“That is totally not what Joe just said,” Brendon said, as if his voice was important right now. Patrick looked at Joe, right at his best friend, who had seen Patrick through everything. 

“What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if I fuck things up more?”

“You’re the feral bunny, Patrick, but he sees the second part of that more than the first. You don't have to get back together, but he’ll listen to whatever you tell him.”

“Maybe I’ll call him up,” Patrick said, hearing Brendon groan and Joe sigh at the same time. He didn't care. He didn’t want to be like that, all dramatically flying out of the country like it was twenty minutes toward the end of a movie.

“Dude, you know who else is in Canada on the same film set?” Joe said slowly. “Andy Hurley. Maybe you have a contract you need him to sign. Right?”

“I haven’t had a proper meeting with him in a while,” Patrick agreed. “I guess I could fly out and come back the next day. Just to check in on Andy.”

“Exactly, and then maybe you might see Pete on set so it would make sense to explain things to him,” Joe was saying it slowly, but Brendon was laughing, until Patrick snapped a glare at him.

“Wait, seriously? You’ll delude yourself rather than roll away the stubbornness?” Brendon laughed. Patrick hated him in that moment, for laughing at him and for seeing him in lingerie.

“Brendon, I appreciate the help you’ve given me, but shouldn’t you go visit Ryan?” Patrick said with a slow voice, trying to not snap. Brendon wiggled his finger by his temple and then pointed at Patrick before leaving. Patrick didn’t care. He needed little lies to get him through this; fake charades to get over the shock.

“Shall I book you on the next flight?”

“Yeah, Joe,” Patrick said. “Thank you for this.”

“You should have told me about the letters and emails,” Joe said, but Patrick shrugged. They hadn’t seemed like a big deal until it was too late. “I can’t believe you let Pete Wentz take nudie snaps of you.”

“Technically I wasn’t naked,” Patrick said, and then wished he hadn’t when he saw the look of horror on Joe’s face.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick tries to come up with a better line than _I was being blackmailed by my dog-sitter_ to explain things to Pete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking by this very long fic, but this is the last chapter! Hope you enjoy

Patrick was on the plane three hours later. He had to leave Penny in Joe’s care, but that was better than anything else. Leaving Ryan in Brendon’s care was something else a little scarier. Patrick hoped nothing when to shit, that he could explain things to Pete in time to work out what they were going to do. He was still shit scared the photos would leak online.

The set was on lockdown, and Patrick wasn’t on the name of people allowed in, but a quick call to Ryland with a bullshit excuse about seeing Andy had him through security. He pinned his ID to his jacket and tried not to look too invested in the set. He’d seen enough Batman movies to last a lifetime. 

Patrick walked through the monotonous maze of trailers. He saw Andy’s opposite Pete’s, just out of view from catering. The area was quiet, like everyone was working on set. Patrick stared between the two trailers for a few seconds, debating, before he told himself to face up to things. He opened Pete’s, took a seat on the cluttered couch, and waited.

He had to wait three hours before there was any movement. Maybe it was love and punishment to have him waiting that long. When Pete finally prised the door open, he dropped the drink in his hand at the sight of Patrick.

“Jesus. I didn’t know you’d be here, Patrick,” Pete said. He looked normal, really. Like he hadn’t been in costume just yet. Pity. Completely unaffected by their doomed love affair.

“Surprise trip,” Patrick said. He sniffed and stared at Pete. He hated feeling so vulnerable. He'd opened up to Pete in so many different ways and he felt so exposed. “There’s something serious we need to discuss.”

Pete’s forehead creased up. “What about?”

“Everything,” Patrick shrugged. “Have you finished for the day? I don't want to discuss it on set.”

Pete nodded. “I’m done. I'm not due back until tomorrow evening for a night shoot.”

“Good. It won’t take that long.”

Patrick followed Pete off the set and into a waiting car. They were filming in Toronto, and Patrick hadn’t been here in forever, but he found himself distracted by his hands in his own lap as they drove to the hotel Pete was staying at.

“Bar or room?” Pete asked when they stepped out of the car and through the doors of the hotel lobby. Pete was fairly well disguised with a hat and hoodie, but no one was around to pay them any attention.

“I think you’ll need a drink to see you through this,” Patrick muttered, heading over to the bar. They got a table in the dark corner and a bottle of wine for the table. It  wasn’t really the occasion for wine, but whatever. 

“Is this about us?” Pete asked. Apart from the actual break up - and even then - Pete hadn’t seemed angry at Patrick. It felt like he didn’t care as much as Patrick, but his voice was soft.

“I was being blackmailed by my dog-sitter,” Patrick said. Maybe if he started in the middle it wouldn’t seem as whacky, but the moment the words left his lips he regretted it. “I didn’t know it was Ryan until last night, but it’s been going on a while.”

“Blackmailing you about us?” Pete asked, sounding surprised at how the conversation had changed. When Patrick nodded, Pete laughed. “I don’t get it. Why?”

“It’s complicated.” Patrick dropped his head into his hands, elbows tight to the table. “Or maybe it isn’t. I don’t know. Basically, he blamed me for the failure of his own relationship and I think he’s mentally unstable. I don’t know the best way to put it. At first it was just dumb little scripts mailed to me about what a sad little person I am, but then they got personal. Really personal.”

“How did he find out about us?”

“He watched me? I don’t know. He hacked you, too. Your cloud. I don’t know what that means, but he got the photos you took of us in Chicago.”

“The ones I deleted?” Pete said, when Patrick nodded, his own face fell into his hands. “I didn’t realize they were being backed up onto the cloud.”

“He said he’d leak them to the press if I didn’t end things. That’s why I—” Patrick stopped talking and stared at the plastic flower on the table between them. He picked at the dots of glue playing at dew. “Everything we worked towards for your career would’ve been ruined.”

“I’ve had a lot of scandal in my life,” Pete said softly. “I could handle another one. You should have told me and we could have sorted it together.”

“It would have been my career too. I don’t do casting couches, you know that. We were playing a dangerous game as it was. I thought… I don’t know.”

“What happens now, then?” Pete changed the subject. There was already so much Patrick hadn’t told him. 

“It’s up to you. They were your photos and it was your cloud. I’d rather you didn’t press charges because I think he needs genuine help, but that’s up to you.” Patrick looked at Pete and saw him weighing up his options. 

Pete rubbed at his face from under his cap and sighed heavily, before looking at Patrick across the table. “I can’t let things go as easy as that, I don’t think. You helped him out before, right?”

“I let him look after Penny when he stopped leaving his house,” Patrick laughed at the absurdity. “So basically I bought this upon myself.”

“I don’t think so. Sounds like he just had it out for you.” Pete stared at Patrick, so much that Patrick had to look away, it felt too intense. “If he won’t get help then I’m pressing charges. You’ve already helped him out so much. Is that a good deal?”

“I think it might be the only choice,” Patrick said. “I’m sorry you got caught up in this. I don’t know what would have happened if we hadn’t got together.”

“I’m sure he would’ve sabotaged you in one way or another.” Pete put his hand on Patrick’s, curling gentle fingers around his hand. “It’s okay to look at me.”

“I find it hard,” Patrick said. He licked his lips and stared at the fake flower some more before staring at Pete at last. He didn’t have any kind of readable expression on his face, even with a warm hand wrapped around Patrick’s. “You haven’t been mad at me yet. It’s like you don’t care, which is annoying. It makes me feel like I was overly invested.”

“Good god, Patrick.” Patrick looked up to see Pete smile at him sweetly. “I have been married three times. I’ve done the dramatic break ups more times that I can admit to. I presumed the relationship was just too much for you to deal with and it was time to let you go. Fighting someone to give a relationship a chance rarely works and I didn’t think it would on you.”

“I never wanted to break up, obviously. I just didn't have a choice at that point.”

“I think you did, even if you don’t realize,” Pete said, which was cryptic as fuck, but Patrick didn’t know how to deal with it. He just shrugged and looked away. They were still holding hands, Patrick could feel Pete’s pulse against his thumb.

“Are you having sex with your beard?” Patrick said.

“She’s my friend, actually, but no.” Patrick felt relief flood through him at that. Gabe had been right. “Are you?”

“Having sex with your beard? No, I'm not,” Patrick laughed, but then shrugged. “I tried to do the whole hook-up as a rebound thing, but it was horrible. I didn’t like it.”

“I’m glad.” Patrick looked up at Pete’s eyes. They were dark, even if his hand was still gentle against Patrick’s.

“I am too,”  Patrick said, and then smiled.

They made it up to Pete’s hotel room in silence with as much discretion as they could. The moment the heavy door closed behind Patrick, Pete was on him, pressing him up against the wall. Patrick was kissed on the mouth until his lips felt bruised, his own hands digging into the tight muscles of Pete’s shoulders. 

It felt like they were only halfway done having the conversation about everything; Patrick’s flaws and idiocy and Pete’s reaction to it all, but somehow Patrick couldn’t think about that, only that he wanted Pete's hands on him, over him; his body too.

They ended up on the bed. Patrick was in his shirt sleeves and nice pants, but Pete took his time unbuttoning every fine button, kissing every freshly bared inch of skin. Patrick let him, didn’t fight him or push for control. It was just nice allowing himself to give it up. Pete was making it easier.

Patrick was on the bed naked and beneath Pete. He was okay with it, even when Pete had his hands pinned up over his head. He watched the way Pete's chest rose and fell with every deep breath as he waited for something else to happen.  
“You can have control if you like,” Pete said softly. He kissed the side of Patrick’s face and then his lips. 

“You can have it.” Patrick figured maybe he did deserve to let Pete control this one time. “I’ll have it next time.”

“Deal.” Pete kissed Patrick to secure it. They didn’t have condoms or lube because neither really thought that far in advance and Patrick wasn’t using a lemon scented hand cream. He was a big boy that has coped with spit in the past.

He felt tighter than normal, even he knew that. Maybe it was tension, because he’d gone longer without sex before, but Pete’s forehead was creased up like he was either in pain or really trying hard.

“Okay, hang on.” Patrick laughed and wrapped his arms over Pete, regulating his breathing. He was maybe just excited about what they were doing and the intensity was making him clench up. He breathed deep until he started to relax.

They didn’t last long anyway, neither of them. It wasn’t about the sex, not to Patrick at least. He hadn’t been horny and it had been more about being together. Maybe it was romantic. Patrick just wanted intimacy.

They lay there together after and Patrick felt Pete’s come leaking down his thighs, but he ignored it. He wasn’t a bitch. At least not right now. He didn't want to lose Pete all over again.

“What happens now?” he asked, when staring at Pete wasn’t giving him any new answers. They were side to side facing each other, their fingertips meeting in the middle.

“Do you want this to be a serious relationship?” Pete asked. Patrick’s stomach dropped at the thought, but he nodded his head. He did want that, even if it scared him.

“You might have to help me through it,” Patrick said softly. “I’m a bit scared.”

“Of commitment?” Pete asked, and Patrick raised one shoulder lightly. “A feral bunny with commitment issues?”

“I used to be an optimist. Like for real. I was an optimist that settled for so much bullshit because I thought that was better than being alone. Then I became a realist because everyone would cheat and I’d probably never be good enough anyway. Kept it up for a few years now so it’s hard fighting for optimism again.”

“I wouldn’t do that. I’ve never really cheated. One of my exes…we had an open relationship but that failed badly, but that doesn’t count as cheating.”

“I trust you,” Patrick said. “It isn’t about that. I promise. I had a lot of sex when I was a teenager with, like, the worst dudes. I knew they were the worst and I knew I couldn’t fix them so I’m not sure why I did it. Maybe because I could. I learned to dump them before they got bored of me. I thought that made it make me better, like I won, but I just ended up more miserable. You make me not want to be like that.”

There was more he could tell Pete. About how moving to LA and meeting a handsome doctor had made him settle down, how he thought he had it all before the rug had been so unceremoniously tugged from beneath his feet. There was a lot between the words that Patrick wouldn’t ever say, but it wasn’t the time for that. He’d say the rest of it one day.

“We’ll find a way to make this work,” Pete promised. He was being so gentle that Patrick's instinct was to say something to brush it off, but again, he fought against it. “We’ll come up with something.”

Patrick fell asleep quickly afterward, which he regretted in the early hours when he awoke with thighs covered in dried come. He crawled from the bed and into the shower, scrubbing at his body until it felt like his own again. He dried himself off and found a shirt of Pete's to tug on before he crawled back onto the bed again. Pete hadn’t awoken, and Patrick stared at his face.

Patrick called Brendon at a more decent time in the morning. He was sitting on the bed in Pete’s clothes with a sore ass that he was determined not to be a bitch about, listening to Pete hum off key in the shower.

“Patrick, I tried all last night to get him to see sense, but he doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong!” Brendons voice raised higher, but Patrick just shushed him.

“Don’t worry about it, Brendon. Pete wants to involve the cops and I know he’s right. I’m flying back this afternoon and I’ll deal with it. I shouldn’t have put it on you in the first place.”

“I was probably the only other option,” Brendon admitted. “But boy am I gonna be glad to fly back to New York and pretend he never existed. Did you and Pete get things sorted? You sound like you got a solid amount of D last night.”

“Fuck you for that,” Patrick said, and then hung up. He texted Brendon immediately afterward, to thank him for everything again, just to be polite.

“Did you just hang up on someone?” Pete asked, heading into the room. He looked at Patrick pouting on the bed and laughed. “It’s always the hottest thing when you wear my clothes.”

“It’s just a shirt,” Patrick rolled his eyes but then stopped, because that was probably rude. “Sorry.”

“What for?” Pete laughed, wiping himself down with a towel and pulling more clothes from the suitcase.

“Nothing.” Patrick stood from the bed and made his way over to Pete. “I was talking to Brendon. Ryan won’t admit what he did was wrong, and he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong. I’m booked on a flight back later this afternoon. I guess I’ll call the cops and explain what’s been happening.”

“It’s the right thing to do,” Pete said, putting his arms over Patrick. “I know it’s hard for you to see it.”

“No, I see it. I just don’t like giving up on people,” Patrick said. He sighed and pressed his forehead to Pete's chin briefly. It was nice, being held. “You want breakfast? I’m hungry.”

There was a diner across from the hotel that they wound up at. Patrick sat cautiously in the booth, waiting for the stiffness to settle before he looked over at the menu.

“How’s your eating habits been?” Pete asked casually.

“Terrible,” Patrick admitted easily. He shrugged when Pete gave him an annoyed expression. “I was sabotaging myself because I was upset. It’ll be fine now.”

“You don’t want to get sick again.”

“No, I know. I was upset.” Patrick waved a hand and frowned at himself. He wanted to tell Pete to shut up asking him, but that would be mean, too, and so he swallowed it down.

“Are you okay? You seem quiet today,” Pete said, when they’d ordered (cornflakes for Patrick, pancakes for Pete). Patrick had been quiet so he didn’t get pissy and ruin everything again.

“I’m fine,” Patrick said slowly. “Just trying to keep my sharp tongue away for once.”

“Why?” Pete asked, with an air of complete innocence. “I like you for you, which includes the constant wrath of your tongue. That’s never something I’d want you to hide.”

“I thought me being bitchy was party of the issue?” Patrick asked, but Pete threw his head back  
and laughed.

“Patrick, that’s one of my favorite things about you. Your feistiness is fucking delicious. It’s the hiding things from me that’s an issue.”

“I only ever hid the stuff about Ryan,” Patrick insisted, which was, okay, quite a big thing, but still. “I think I'm still in shock about it. He was there under my nose. I just thought he was odd, not anything else.”

“He won’t be able to hurt you now.”

“It wasn’t me I was worried about,” Patrick shrugged. “We’ve worked hard on your career just to throw it away.”

Pete smiled soppily at Patrick, who tried to roll his eyes. “We have to do something about that, huh? My work and your place in it.”

“Something needs to be done,” Patrick admitted. He pressed his fingers to the hot side of his coffee until the pads of his fingers started to burn. 

“Patrick, you are the best at everything. Sometimes you frustrate me so much I want to squeeze my fingers around your throat, but that’s just because you’re a pain in the ass that is amazing at his job.” Patrick’s favorite compliments were ones soaked in rudeness. It made them easier to digest. “Dude, you’re fired.”

Patrick froze with a smile on his face. He hadn’t been so insulted in so long. “What the fuck? No way. I'm the best thing that ever happened to your lackluster career.”

“Yes, you are,” Pete laughed, smiling at Patrick. He pressed his foot against Patrick’s beneath the table. “But if it’s a choice between you as an agent and you as a boyfriend then there’s no contest.”

“But you won’t get anyone as good as me,” Patrick said, and he knew he was an idiot for arguing like this, fighting Pete on something that he wanted, but he just couldn’t help himself. “You fucking know it.”

“Maybe you could help find someone that’s like totally second to you?” Pete said. He was still laughing at Patrick’s reaction. “You know it’s our only option if we want this to work. You’re not comfortable working for me, that much is obvious.”

“Well, I don’t work _for_ you. I work with you, and that is different,” Patrick said, but admitted defeat. “Fine. But any option you get for a movie you talk to me about…just as a second opinion.”

“Those bad boy trust issues are rearing their ugly head, babe,” Pete said, but Patrick just shrugged. “I like that you’re being mean to me again though. Feels more like our normal.”

“Our normal?”

“Our normal is everyone's insanity, but I like it.” Pete shrugged, sipping his coffee. Patrick laughed eventually, he had a point.

 

Patrick left Pete in Toronto to face up to the chaos left behind in LA. They kissed goodbye and Patrick promised to fly out at the weekend; Pete wouldn’t finish shooting for another six weeks and they had to catch up at some point. 

“I’m coming back and I’m bringing lube and condoms. Loads of condoms,” Patrick said, from the warmth of Pete’s hotel room. It felt safer here than anywhere else and Patrick didn’t want to go. “I’m getting too old for spit and bareback. I had to shower at two AM just to stop the rash building on my thighs from your dried jizz.”

“Okay, I’m real sorry that making love annoyed you so much.”

“Making love only sounds okay said in your head,” Patrick told Pete, but then smiled sweetly. “You said you liked my feistiness.”

“I do.” Pete pulled him close and kissed him on the mouth. “Now go scare some other A-list actors and leave me be.”

Patrick felt like he’d traveled through to another dimension as he headed from the airport and to the office. Pete felt forever ago with his sappiness and warm arms. Patrick pulled himself together and stared down at Joe, who was juggling a phone call and an email at once. When he hung up he stared at Patrick slowly, like he was assessing him.

“How was your meeting with Andy”? He asked, with a dry lilt to his tone. Patrick scoffed and fiddled with the glasses on the tip of his nose instead.

“I got caught up in other business. I got it sorted with Pete,” Patrick shrugged. He wasn’t divulging the entire thing here in the office. He’d get drunk and explain things to Joe and Marie at a later date. “Pete wants to press charges, but I don’t know how to go about things. Do I just show up at the station or make a call?” 

“I’d call them, get them to come here and then explain things. They’ll want a statement from Pete too. Are you okay with this decision?”

“It’s the right thing to do,” Patrick admitted, perching on Joe’s desk. “Brendon had zero luck and I can’t risk those photos getting leaked.”

“May as well bite the bullet,” Joe said. He had eyes that Patrick always felt calmed by, ever since they were little kids. Patrick nodded his head and stared at his best friend. Time to bite that motherfucking bullet. 

Patrick got home late that night and burned the plaid panties. He never ever wanted to see them again, particularly when he’d had to show the cops _all evidence_ pertaining to the blackmailing and hacking. Brendon had been delayed on his flight back to New York for his statement, and Patrick had told Pete that the cops would be in touch with him too.

“Being the leading guy is no fun,” Patrick said to Penny when he’d set fire to the underwear and brushed the remains into the bin. He needed to research a new dog-sitter at some point, but he wasn’t really feeling the idea of someone else new. Maybe he’d just take her into the office more. 

 

The only person Patrick felt like he had to break the news to was Vicky. He didn't explain everything to her, just the dating Pete for real this time. The Ryan stuff, well, he hadn't processed that properly yet. Give it a little longer and he might.

“You are truly pathetic,” Vicky told him over drinks. She was smirking, but looking accusatory with it. “On off relationships are tragic, Patrick. We agreed on that once.”

“They are tragic, but this isn’t one of them.” When she gave him a confused look, he broke down and confessed to her about the stalking and the dog-sitter from hell. Then she started laughing so much her drink started to slosh over the sides of the glass and over her hand.

“That’s fucking hilarious, Patrick. Fuck, maybe I will make a movie about your weird fucking life.” She winked, like she didn’t mean too much harm. “So, I'm alone in the single life, huh? Maybe Pete had a friend.”

“Not many,” Patrick shrugged. If he had, then he’d been too scared to introduce Patrick to them. Patrick scanned the bar and noticed two men looking in their direction. Patrick looked at Vicky and leaned closer. “There are two guys at the bar, one of them is checking you out.”

Vicky, after many years of being Patrick’s friend, had learned the subtle art of checking men out without them noticing. She stared for a while before shrugging. “Eh. One of them wants to sleep with you.”

“Maybe,” Patrick shrugged, and then smiled because he could. “I got a boyfriend now. Not interested.”

“Loser,” Vicky said, but she clinked their glasses together and looked at him warmly.

 

Things fell into an odd type of normality. For the time that Pete was in Canada, Patrick flew up to see him. He tried not to fall in love any harder than he already had, but he was out of options now. He loved him, and he was willing to show it, for the most part. When they were alone.

Patrick was so glad when he finally came home though. He got Pete back and all to himself, at least on the days he had off. He stayed away for the most part when the kids were around, it didn’t seem right to be there when things were still so new. Only really Ella knew and understood who he was to Pete, but that was because she now split her time half at Pete’s house, half at the place she shared with her mom since their move to LA. 

Joe came over with the best news of Patrick’s life a few weeks later. He was having a baby with Marie at last. Patrick actually squealed with joy in the middle of a pissy email exchange with William. He crawled up into his oldest friend’s arms and hugged him to death.

“Joe, Marie, and me are having a baby!” Patrick shouted at Pete later that night. He was in after a long day of meetings. Pete was fishing for another new agent after the last one fell through (Patrick may have had something to do with it) but he was sitting outside, laughing at Patrick’s comment.

“How do you fit into that equation?” Pete asked, as Patrick took a seat beside him, kissing his cheek softly. Pete put his arm over Patrick’s shoulder and pulled him in close.

“Well, Joe played the role of father to my kids at work so I get to help parent his kid. Plus, I would make the best schedule for it and arrange a killer baby shower. Don't deny it.”

“I mean, I attended a shitty dinner party of yours, once,” Pete laughed, but Patrick scoffed dismissively. 

“That’s different. I didn’t want to be there, and this would be exciting for me. And Joe.”

“ _And_ Marie. Who is having the baby,” Pete suggested. Patrick smiled, of course Marie was the most important part, but he just wanted to be involved. “That’s good news. How was the rest of your day?”

“Not so good,” Patrick admitted. “Ryan’s pleading not guilty so it’s going to trial, which means I'm going to be called to give evidence. Everyone will get to stare at my festive ass just to make it all the more traumatic.” They’d kept it out of the press; Pete and Patrick’s attorneys working hard to keep it that way. Really, it was only because it was Pete that was hacked that he was even involved. He was mainly a pawn in Ryan’s game otherwise. “You'll probably get dragged into it too.”

“Well shit. I'm sorry.” Pete rubbed at Patrick’s shoulder and kissed his temple. Patrick didn’t know how he felt about it. Maybe he was still in shock, because he couldn't reconcile the thought that it was weird but sensible Ryan that had done this to him. He still half wished it was someone nefarious and strange, someone he didn’t know. That would make it a lot easier to process. 

“I thought he’d take a plea bargain,” Patrick said, but then stopped talking. He didn’t like talking about it, opening up to his thoughts about what happened. He’d blocked a lot of it out at the time, but it worried on his mind, on the nights he didn’t sleep.

 

 

 

 

Patrick had Pete tied up to the bed, handcuffs secured to the headboard. He had a cock ring too, and slid it over Pete's dick until it was nestled to the base. Pete's face was a picture, nervous and turned on. His dick was better; thicker than normal, veins protruding. 

"This is a little wild, Patrick," Pete gritted out. He flexed his wrists and stared at Patrick. Patrick just shrugged and laid his palm in the center of Pete's chest.

"Too wild and we can stop," Patrick offered, but Pete shook his head. He liked where this was going. "You know you're in good hands with me."

"I know." Patrick was naked too, and kneeling up against Pete. He stroked his hand over Pete's damp skin, before sliding it down around Pete's dick. He was hot to touch, and Pete moaned as Patrick stroked a hand up and down. He hadn't felt this hard before. 

"You've never looked this good before," Patrick told him, touching his lips to the head of Pete's dick. He opened his wet mouth around it and soaked in the sounds that Pete made. 

Patrick sucked it lazily for a time. He kept a thumb against the tight cock ring around the base as he moved his mouth up and down. Normally he liked to use teeth, but Pete was going through enough sensation right now, so Patrick made sure to keep them tucked behind his lips. 

"You look so fucking good with a cock stuffed in your mouth," Pete slurred hazily. Patrick made a show of looking up at him, blond hair falling in his face and cheeks hollowed. 

"I know," Patrick agreed when he lifted off. Pete was so hard and Patrick couldn't wait. He grabbed the lube from the side and thumbed the cap open.

"Make a show of it," Pete said. Patrick liked to think he begged. He sounded whiny with it, but he agreed anyway. Patrick didn't like a whole lot of prep, but he'd give in this time.

He straddled Pete's waist and waited until his knees lifted up before leaning his back against them. Pete's rock hard dick touched his back, and it was hot. Patrick didn't really consider himself an exhibitionist; didn't think much to his looks or his body, but he knew Pete liked it, was crazy for it, so it didn't bother him spreading himself open. 

He fingered himself with slick fingers, half an eye on Pete's face, watching him stretch himself open. He was half bored because prep, unless someone else was doing it, always bored Patrick. He watched Pete lick his lips and had an idea.

"I've changed my mind for this part," Patrick said, pulling his fingers out of his ass and wiping the lube on the bed. "I think you should prep me. With your mouth."

"Fuck yes." It was like Pete tried to fist pump but then remembered that his hands were chained to the bed. Patrick turned so he was facing away from Pete before moving back. Patrick sat down cautiously, only having to shift once for Pete to find him.

Patrick moved a hand behind himself, to hold onto Pete's head as he felt Pete's tongue slide over over ass and inside him. It was difficult to maintain a balance when Pete was plunging and circling his tongue in and out of Patrick's ass. 

"Fuck. Gotta make me wet enough to take your dick," Patrick said, hoping Pete could hear him over the ass in his face. He was doing what he was told though, sucking and slurping at Patrick; striking between the cleft and inside. One day, Patrick wanted to rock to orgasm on Pete's face, but not today.

Patrick sat up once he was hard himself, and his ass slick with spit. It was much better than a lazy fingering. Maybe he'd make Pete prep him like that every time. That would work well. Pete had licked him so good that when Patrick finally pulled away, he felt strands of wet dribble trail down the insides of his thighs as he shifted. Kind of hot, kind of gross.

Patrick turned again, so he was facing Pete. He was breathing hard and his face was red, like having Patrick sit on his face had taken it out of him. He hadn't complained though, and he licked his lips at Patrick afterward, like he wouldn't mind doing it again.

Patrick didn't have time to fuss about now, and only stopped to pour cold lube over the head of Pete's dick. Pete flexed and moaned, but he seemed to have lost his words at some point. Patrick didn't tease him about it, only stroked a quick hand up and down Pete's dick, spreading the lube.

Then he positioned himself. He straddled Pete, holding onto the base of Pete's dick, feeling the ring wrapped tight around it. He'd take it off at the last moment, but he wanted to feel Pete this hard. He stared at Pete as he lowered himself down, waiting for the parting of his own flesh before he bit down on his lip. Always the best part.

"You look so good stretched over my dick." Pete's voice was husky, from lack of use, and Patrick peeled his eyes open in surprise at the words. 

"That's brave of you," Patrick laughed, moving himself all the way down. He could feel the steel of the ring against his ass as he sunk all the way down. He gripped hold of Pete's thigh behind him to steady himself. Pete was so hard, he felt more like a toy than a dick. "You like the way I feel, huh."

"Always." Pete's eyes were closed, his lips in a thin line. Patrick started to move himself, looking at Pete the entire time. He clutched a hold of his own dick, moving his hand up and down, feeling Pete inside him. "Baby, you feel so good."

Patrick so badly wanted to hate Pete for calling him baby, but it was the opposite and he had to choke back a moan. Fuck Pete for that. Patrick clenched deliberately, and Pete yanked on the binds his wrists were in. 

It was almost too intense for Patrick. Pete's dick felt bigger than normal and way more solid and he was riding it harder than normal. He slapped his hands on Pete's chest and leaned forward, feeling Pete's dick slide out a few inches. 

He rocked forward like that for a while, back and forward feeling it build up. When he was so close, so close to coming with Pete inside him, he regrettably lifted up and made quick haste with the cock ring. He pulled it off, with Pete's moans in his ear and slid it back inside. He wanted to make a game of who would come first, but he didn't have it in him. With Pete's name on his tongue, a hand over his dick, and his ass tight and spread he came hard. 

He wished he’d time it a little better because he had been so wrapped up in his own orgasm that he'd missed Pete's. He could feel how wet he was inside, already starting to leak out, quicker than normal. He let Pete slide from his body as he shifted up the bed, grabbing the key from the nightstand and making quick work of loosening the cuffs around Pete's wrists. 

Pete's hands clutched at Patrick's face when they were free, bringing him in for a kiss. Patrick didn't mind, even when knowing where Pete had had his tongue not that long before. He even let Pete flip them, so Pete was on top of him, pressing him down into the bed. 

"My dick," Pete said. "I fucking hope it isn't broken."

"I'll kiss it better later," Patrick said. He loved being in charge of the sex, of dictating how and where Pete fucked him, but he liked it like this afterward more, where Pete would hold him down. "I didn't break it. Bet it was good for you."

"Really good," Pete admitted, laughing into the side of Patrick's neck. He still had hands on him, one on the side of his cheek. Patrick touched it, and kissed the red skin where the metal of the cuffs had dug in. "Fuck, I'm gonna be seeing the way you rode me for days behind my eyes."

"I don't mind that," Patrick said, shutting his eyes, with Pete still on top of him

 

Patrick was in the office, going over a few final things with Gerard on the phone a week later. Ella was slouched in the corner of his office, tapping away on her phone. Patrick was appeasing Gerard by letting him discuss the latest version of a character he created. Patrick hummed and hawwed as much as he could before breaking into Gerard’s stream of consciousness.

“Hey, Gerard. Mama’s gotta go, alright? But come in for a proper meeting at some point, or we can meet up, okay?” Patrick hung up before Gerard could complain at him and stood up, leaving his office to find Joe slouched in his chair.

“Did you just call yourself mama to Gerard Way?” Ella followed him out. Patrick had forgotten she was there the entire time.

“You didn’t know?” Joe laughed. “You haven’t heard your dad call him that yet?”

“Can we not?” Patrick said, and then turned to Ella. “I stopped being mama to Pete the moment I stopped working for him.” She looked at him, mostly horrified, until he winked and patted her arm. 

“Oh, yeah. How’s it going with the new agent?”

“What one?” Ella cut in again. “He’s been through three new ones already. He listens to you too much.”

“So he should,” Patrick shrugged, and then pulled a careless expression when Joe gave him a very teacherly look. “It’s not my fault they’re not as good as me.”

“But now you’re not allowed in the house when he’s meeting the new one,” Ella teased. “That’s why we’re here.”

“That isn’t why we’re here. We’re here because I needed to speak to Gerard,” Patrick insisted. “And now we’re off to check out a recording studio that I know the owner of. Because I’m nice.”

“You are nice,” Joe admitted. “But why the studio?”

“Because I’m dating Ella’s dad and that doesn’t count as nepotism.” Patrick looked to Pete’s daughter, who looked like she was trying to suss out whether he was teasing her or not. Eighteen, man. Patrick wouldn’t go back to that age for anything. “I booked it and promised to tag along for Pete. To keep an eye on things.”

“In some countries I’m an adult,” Ella said. Patrick tried not to look at Joe and laugh. They’d both been there. “Plus I’m taller than you. I look more intimidating.”

“You do,” Patrick agreed. “But they don’t call me a feral bunny for no reason.”

 

Somehow somewhere someone had decided that Pete really was a _serious_ actor now and so he was both nominated for a Golden Globe, and expected to win for _Pride and Prejudice._ He wanted Patrick to come with him because of boyfriend reasons, and the fact that it had been the first role Patrick had given him.

Of course, Patrick said no, he would not go as Pete's date. 

"Well obviously you wouldn’t be there as my actual date." Pete laughed. "Well, you would but I would make it a thing like 'yo, I brought my agent because he scored me the role in the first place."

"Former agent," Patrick corrected Pete, not shifting when Pete put his hands on Patrick's shoulders and laughed exasperatedly. "Even if I did want to go to the Golden Globes with you, I can't. I have something else on that night."

"Oh, okay," Pete said, clearly trying to hide his disappointment. He kissed Patrick's forehead and pushed his hair over to the side. "Who should I bring. Is Ella a good idea?"

"I'd normally say yeah because it makes you look like a family guy, but she'd say that might ruin her career via nepotism." They'd had a lot of conversations about it recently, or at least, Patrick had been eating quietly as Pete and his daughter argued about it.

"I won't hide that she's my daughter. I don't know why she's so against it." Pete flapped his hands in defeat, but Patrick just patted his arm.

"I think it's because she's eighteen and everyone's parents are lame at that age. Oh and she wants to prove she's a 'real' artist," Patrick shrugged and then kissed Pete on the lips. "I know that from my own experience."

"What, when you were a self-righteous groupie?" Pete laughed to himself, even as Patrick slapped at his chest.

"I was self-righteous, but I wasn't a _groupie_ ," Patrick insisted, but then, he did spend more time sleeping with band members in his youth than actually being in bands. "Maybe I was."

"You were. I asked Joe, he’s told me _all_ the stories," Pete smirked. "Anyway. It isn't fair, why won't she let me help her when you're allowed to take her to recording studios and listen to her songs."

"Because I'm not her daddy," Patrick laughed. "Don't be a baby about things, Pete. I've got a plan about the Golden Globes." Pete sensed a change in Patrick's tone, and his mouth fell into a smirk and his hands slid to Patrick's hips. Patrick allowed himself to be pulled in quick, fingers on Pete's collarbone. 

"We need a game to lighten things up, so I suggest that if you win the award, then you get to have me whatever way you want." Patrick was being so considerate. He'd not really been in the mood to give up control recently, it always took more out of him. 

Pete’s eyes lit up. "So you won't bitch at all in the bedroom if I win?"

"I mean, I can't promise that," Patrick laughed, shrugging when Pete kissed his neck. "But I will do what you want. 

"For just one time?" Pete asked curiously. Patrick shrugged his shoulders, thinking it over as Pete's mouth started to suck at his neck. 

"Maybe like for two weeks. Or ten times and you can use them up how you like," Patrick said. He'd been distracted by the lips on his skin and hadn't meant to make the offer as high as ten. 

"Goddamn, I really hope I win." Pete’s lips lifted to seal the deal around Patrick’s instead.

 

Pete did win and Patrick was at the Golden Globes. Of course he was, he was the best agent in the business and after parties were a golden opportunity to schmooze. He sat at his own table, beside Gabe, who'd co-produced a documentary in a different category. He'd felt both deep pride at Pete winning after working so hard, and horror at imagining what he was going to say. Gabe laughed the entire time, arm over Patrick's shoulders as Pete made his way up to the podium. 

"It's been a long time since...um... I've been at a place like this." Pete looked nervous, forehead creased and eyes darting around the room. "I didn't think I'd ever be given a second chance. So uh thanks. Also, um. I think, aside from my kids and so forth, there's one person I need to thank above everyone else and that's mama. They know who they are." 

"Ooh boy, he went there!" Gabe laughed into Patrick's ear. Pete's eyes fixed on Patrick as he stepped back from the podium and Patrick caught a glance at his shocked expression before looking away.

They were all heading to the same after party that evening and Patrick went through the back entrance as Pete and Gabe walked the red carpet. Pete found him not long after, in one of the many dark corners of the party, away from the prying cameras.

"Dude, I love the blue suit," Pete said, when he got to Patrick. He had his little award in hand, and looked entirely shell shocked. "You little fucker, you lied to me."

"Blue and gold go so well together," Patrick smirked, touching his hand briefly to Pete's. "And I never lied. I said I was too busy to attend with you, not that I wasn't going."

"You are a fucker," Pete said again, but he leaned in. "Are you mad for what I said?"

"Not really. I'm proud of you and I guess it was only a matter of time before one of my clients called me mom on stage. Better that it's you, who won't embarrass me, than Gabe, who definitely would. " 

"You are being suspiciously sweet." Pete cupped a hand to Patrick's cheek, his thumb rubbing softly. "I just wanna be with you right now."

"Later," Patrick said, even though he was desperate for the same thing. He shifted his face and kissed the side of Pete's hand. "You gotta go party like a shithead."

 

Patrick stayed in the shadows of the party, taking compliments on his work with Pete and networking in a way that he knew best. Gerard had pulled out of the Netflix show all those months back, but Patrick had spoken with a producer about a comic adaptation that had just been greenlit. It wasn't Batman, but it would probably appease Gerard for the time being.

Later that night they were in a hotel room and Pete was still looking in awe, if a little more tipsy than before. The award was on the nightstand and Pete was fumbling at Patrick's black shirt, trying to get it undone.

"I fuckin hope you've got blue panties on tonight," Pete was saying. "Can I trade in one of my tokens for tonight? So you'll behave."

"I _always_ behave," Patrick lied, subtly helping Pete open up his shirt. Patrick hissed as Pete sucked at his chest, between his nipples. He stroked the back of Pete's head as he sucked a red kiss against Patrick's chest.

"You never behave for me, but I like that," Pete admitted, then he laughed, scrunching his face up. Patrick cupped Pete's face in his hands, and kissed him laughing along. "But do you have blue panties on?"

"You know how I like to match," Patrick admitted, still holding Pete's face in his hands and kissing him again and again. "Come see for yourself."

Pete didn't take any more encouragement. Patrick leaned back on his elbows and laughed as Pete fumbled for Patrick's belt. He got it open on the third attempt and dragged the zipper down. The panties were a little more exotic than normal. Royal blue and velvet with a black lace trim, they were totally inappropriate, if maybe slightly Victorian, but Patrick had slipped them on before finding Pete's hotel room. He wanted to treat him right for the night. 

"Expensive and soft like you," Pete said, stroking the delicate scalloped lace laying against Patrick's thighs.

"Can you not," Patrick said, but he didn't mind. He kicked his pants off, until he was sprawled in his fussy panties and open black shirt. His hair was bleached again, now that he was happy and in love, and he felt like he was there solely to be looked at. "You can have it your way tonight."

"Every way is my way, really," Pete shrugged and then ducked his head to kiss the thin waistband of the panties. They dug in a little, leaving a pink line against Patrick's skin, but he didn't mind. 

Patrick actually liked the way they did it that night. Pete in all honesty, wasn't up to too much, half-drunk and half-astounded about how the night had been. Patrick kept the panties and shirt on and laid there as Pete _made love_ to him. His wrists were pinned above his head and Pete's lips were bruising his throat in a way he wouldn't be able to hide. 

"Thank you," Pete was half mumbling between slow thrusts and Patrick laughed because that was too serious and intense, but he knew that Pete meant it all the same. Patrick did what he did, he got Pete the job, but he didn't get him the award. 

There was time to reflect afterward, when Patrick was still in his shirt and the panties had been removed. Pete was asleep beside him, but Patrick was restless. His wrists ached and were red from where they'd been pushed down into the mattress but it was soothing in a way, to have something to focus on.

He didn't feel over it, what happened with Ryan. It felt like such a shock to the system to be betrayed by someone that he'd never suspected. Patrick was a worrier, deep down, there was no hiding it either. He worried about Pete's career and what would happen if they were outed. He worried about getting attached to his kids and falling in love like he did before, where he thought anything was better than breaking up.

Then, he told himself to get over it. If he wanted he could leave this room and ignore Pete for eternity; go back to canned fruit and lonely days off, wishing briefly for someone before pushing it away. He got away with his fears most of the time, Pete was laid back enough with him to forget it. Anyway, Pete did let him get away with basically everything.


End file.
